


Champion's Blasé

by kmichs



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmichs/pseuds/kmichs
Summary: Link wakes up in the Resurrection Shrine once more, long after defeating Calamity Ganon. No one is there to guide him. In an attempt to determine why this has happened again, he learns that a new hero has been born in his absence. There has to be some mistake. Something's wrong at the castle. Something's wrong with everything. He was asleep too long.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Faint blue lights lured him out of a hazy dream. It was a gentle awakening, and by the time he was fully conscious there wasn’t even a memory of a dream left to mourn. Exhaustion paved the way for only more exhaustion, and so for a while, he lay there, shivering. This place was uninviting in its cold. Uninviting, no matter the temperature.

Reality crept in as he stared at the lights on the ceiling blankly. Soon after, realization paralyzed him, in a way so crippling that he was certain he no longer even had a physical body.

The water was still draining around him. 

Frigidity waited no time to take the water’s place, clinging to his skin, forcing him to accept that this was real, and he was real, and soon he'd be alone in this pool. As if the water had been there just to keep him company. This time around, he knew that its purpose was far more than that. It had kept him alive. Now he was independently alive and just cold. Without comprehending the emotion, he envied that water. It had served its purpose and now it was gone. Had he not done enough to fulfil his own purpose?

Surely, he’d served destiny well enough by now to dissolve into that water and drain with it.

Link lay there, freezing, staring straight ahead, unable to hone in on a single train of thought. He blinked as he tried to embrace the darkness, drops of chilled, iridescent water falling from his eyelashes as he did so. As they rolled down his face, they felt like tears.

Above him, the ceiling bore no details to focus on outside of those lights, leaving him to wait for his eyes to adjust to whatever patterns remained in them. Were the runes always so dim? He partially realized that he was struggling to focus on the lights so not to panic.

Breathe. He had to force a lot of panic out of his head just to focus on breathing. He curled his arms up into his chest, hoping to retain any warmth inside him, but there was none to be spared. He already felt defeated to be back here at all, and he couldn’t orient himself well enough to even remember why.

Last time. Focus on last time. 

He reeled to gather any memories of his first visit here. He had… died. He had woken up from death. Being here again only meant...

Still lying there, Link began to hyperventilate, forgetting to focus on his breath, overlaying memories playing back as he attempted to remember as much as he could, simply out of the fear of forgetting. He’d lost so much the last time, and he couldn’t bear to go through it all again, and--

He sat up slowly, like it pained him. Nothing in the room looked amiss, only darker. It was still a big, empty room.

It took him too long to find the strength to stand. His hair was drenched, keeping him cold, sticking to his cheeks and forehead. It hurt his stiff arms as he ruffled his hair, trying to dry it off and smooth it out. When his arms were too tired to continue, he rapidly shook his head, letting his wet hair whip against his face. It felt like it had grown out of his control during his sleep. 

Finally, he exited the pool. The floor was rough under his bare feet, but he was already too cold, too numb, to comprehend it.

There was no Sheikah Slate waiting for him on the pedestal. He closed his eyes, pressed a cold, shaking hand onto a somehow colder stone, and wished for something to happen. Any form of guidance. Anything, because this was too much. If he tried to recall anything, it would open a floodgate of despair and he couldn’t figure this out on his own. 

Where was Zelda this time?

He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he scanned the pedestal’s surface, looking for any sort of a clue that could help him. There were none. Not even in his clothes, which were undoubtedly his, gave any indication that he’d been in battle, or had been killed, or--

Just breathe. He had to stop the panic. He had little light but still looked himself over, hoping there would be a clue on his skin in the form of an unfamiliar scar, anything. Standing here, foolishly naked in the dark, he saw nothing new. All his marks were familiar; reminders of older battles. Not a hint at what had caused his second death. He took a shaky breath.

All he could do was get dressed and figure it out from there. The clothes were dusty and parts had been claimed and eaten by moths, but they were not completely unsalvageable. He did remember these clothes, he decided as he put them on: it was not his royal armor, but plainclothes from the shop near his home. He blinked back tears, imagining that shop. On the one hand, he was glad to remember where he’d lived, but on the other, he’d never before experienced homesickness. Hateno Village was so far away, and that could not be his first stop, or even his second. 

He had to find Zelda and straighten all this out. She’d know what was going on. She always had the answers, even when they were harsh.

Buying these trousers, this graying tunic… He couldn’t remember anything else since that damned battle against the Calamity. It had sealed his fate. 

Breathe--Zelda will be able to figure this out.

The hallway of the Shrine projected the noise of his weathered boots against their walls, a demoralizing applause to send him off. Without the Slate to open the door, he was shocked but more relieved to find the doors ajar; the bars tasked with holding him in were pried back just enough for him to slip out. Before doing just that, he stared out for a few minutes, allowing his tired eyes to adjust to an even greater strength of light. 

Engraved steel bars dug into his spine as he passed sideways between them, but the pain was forgotten as soon as he was free and headed for the cliff that would show him the countryside. The Castle was still there, and he immediately caught himself on that thought, wondering why he should have been afraid that it was gone.

Though it was visibly out there, it was too dark to see any of its details. It looked to be in order, but he wouldn’t know until he got there. Which meant that he had to get off the Plateau somehow. Something told Link that there wouldn’t be a kind royal spirit here to grant him any tools this time.

A faint stripe of pink-orange light lined the sky where it met the mountains, meaning it was either sunrise or sunset. Either way, Link did not want to linger here. As he descended the hill to the edge, he noticed a peculiar lack of Bokoblins here. This place was infested with them before, and now there wasn’t a trace of life. Perhaps the Calamity's downfall caused the monsters who once dwelled here to succumb as well, just like Link had. 

Twice.

Despite being clearly alone, he hated the feeling of defenselessness. He broke a branch off a tree and took an apple, too, for good measure. It wasn’t ripe, but seeing the food caused him to realize he was too hungry to care.

He was sure he looked ridiculous here, just him among the trees, a tart, half-eaten apple in one hand and an oversized stick in the other. There was no feeling strong enough to warrant discarding his weapon, though, so when he was done with his apple he swung the branch over his shoulder and thought nothing more of it.

The Great Plateau had once been a formidable fortress, but that wasn’t in Link’s time. In any of Link’s times. Now, here, standing on the edge of what was once a lookout tower, there was more rubble than solid stone. 

To his failing memory, he’d never felt so alone as he did right now.

He looked down the edge of the Plateau. It was a long fall. He couldn’t imagine it. He walked away, looking back at the cave that housed his own personal time-prison, and after contemplating for a great long while, he sat on the ledge. He felt so tall here, and anxiety nestled in the pit of his stomach, right beside the hunger. He'd have to climb down, he decided. There were no better options. There were no options.

Perhaps if he waited long enough, some higher power would be able to tell him what he was supposed to do. He was really just waiting for Zelda’s directions. Nothing came to him. He felt nothing.

One last time, he tried to replicate a timeline of how the hell he wound up back here. He’d remembered scraps of a shredded childhood, but that wasn’t useful here. They dissolved quickly like fresh dreams.

He remembered how it felt to submerge the Master Sword into the skull of the monster that had become Calamity Ganon. He remembered enough about his tragedies. But nothing else. All he knew was that death was the only prerequisite to get here.

By now, it was obvious that the night sky was giving way to a sunrise. He waited for it to settle in, giving him enough light to see what he was doing as he made this stupid, dangerous descent. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a choice. There was nothing for him up here. His newest destiny would have to be at the castle.

Luckily--as if he had any luck within him--it didn't seem like it had rained lately. Of all the things Link had to worry about in this moment, slipping in a muddy patch and falling to his (probably last) death was not one of them. He found a spot that didn't have a lot of give to the cracking stone and swung his legs off the edge, took a deep breath, and began his descent.

Thankfully, this side of the Plateau still had remains of its vaulted walls, giving Link a place to stop almost immediately. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d done something like this. Standing there, on the little stone ledge, he looked back up from where he’d come from. It wasn’t that far, a dozen feet at most, and he was already sick of it. His arms felt to be on the brink of giving up.

At every opportunity, he stopped. When feeling especially courageous, he would look over his shoulder at the castle. As it got lighter, he had hoped to see anything new, but it was just too far away. When the rocks and dirt beneath him began to feel weary, Link took another breath and continued. No amount of deep breaths could calm him.

He hoped he was halfway down. His palms had become too sweaty for him to risk looking down beyond the next step. He was getting tired, but giving up meant dying without getting any answers. At the very least, he deserved to know what had become of himself.

He looked up again. He could no longer see the peak of the plateau anymore. 

During his next rest, the only reason he found the guts to look down was because he was beginning to feel faint. Maybe twenty feet separated him from the rocky rubble below. He closed his eyes and thought about letting go, and letting the Goddess determine his fate. In the same thought, however, he imagined what Zelda would say, scolding him about his “recklessness and abandonment of common sense,” or something along those lines.

His feet finally hitting solid ground earned him what he thought was a well-deserved break. Were hunger not propelling him onward, he could have stayed here for hours, panting, arms burning as he lay across the jagged rocks. He stayed only long enough to catch his breath.

The pain embedded in his limbs continued as he stood back up and turned north. To the castle. And with fresh eyes, after the sun had completely risen during his climb, he saw it clearly, and even as a speck on the horizon he could see that something was wrong.

This was not the castle he remembered. 

If he had closed his eyes, he’d be able to remember the desolate details of its initial destruction. The shadows that once encircled it were burned into his memories. That, he could not forget.

This castle was not his. It lacked those shadows but he could still see evil inside. The towering sanctum was gone. This kind of destruction could not have happened by accident. Last time he’d been at the castle, the inner sanctum was intact.

A fresh wave of panic eased into his veins. Unfortunately, it just mixed in with the rest of the panic he was already feeling, and Link barely felt its entrance.

Speaking of things he barely felt, he was walking north now. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but he felt compelled to save whatever he could that was left in the castle. If no one would tell him his destiny this time, he’d have to invent it himself. There was no better place to start.

He could head to Kakariko Village, where certainly the Sheikah could guide him, but he figured he’d starve before making that trek. At least heading north would quickly put him at a stable, which, in turn, would give him food.

But not for free. Link's pockets were empty. Money didn't seem like one of his priorities right now, but he'd have to keep it in mind as he ventured on. He felt very strange, travelling this way: in none of his memories was he unarmed and penniless at the same time. After walking a few paces in the direction of the castle, he remembered the existence of Eventide Island, where he had been not only unarmed and penniless, but naked too. He fingered the hem of his tunic and counted that blessing.

It was a short list. The thin fabric did little to protect him from the wind.

He didn’t count how many times he instinctively went to grab the Sheikah Slate from his belt. He had neither a belt nor the Slate to refer to. He needed a map. There was definitely an abandoned outpost somewhere. In his prior travels there were definitely occasional travelers taking refuge in the remnants of its walls and towers. However, the further he walked, the further from civilization he felt.

Certainly he should have passed some sort of ruins by now. He felt like he’d been walking for hours but knew realistically it had been likely half an hour, more or less. Still enough time to stumble upon one of the ruins, though. So where were they?

Hyrule had evidently changed, and it made Link uneasy. He didn’t have a map, or water, or money, or a weapon, and dramatics were beginning to leak in from the famine. Forget making it to Kakariko Village: what if he perished before reaching the castle? A stable? Anyone who could help?

Worrying seemed to do worse for his pace. He turned around and stood in the cold wind of the plain. The plateau was barely behind him. Personified, it was judging him. He was undoubtedly a sturdier hero the last time he'd done this. 

Better equipped, at least. A more collected person, too. His stomach growled: he was less hungry last time, too. He regretted not eating more apples up there.

When he first saw a pillar of smoke in the distance, he refused to look at it, deciding that it was either a weirdly specific hallucination as a result of his status, or an enemy that would rip him apart before he could even get close enough to attack, had he a weapon. 

He could not get his hopes up for this smoke. It probably wasn't even real.

But as he continued to amble onward, it got closer. To his surprise, it wasn’t just a campfire. It was an entire fire pit, with actual food cooking upon its breadth, with a few people standing around it in quiet conversation. Link looked around: it seemed that along the dirt paths of Hyrule Field, a group of people had settled in. There were even wooden homes built up by a pond Link couldn’t remember existing.

This was not an outpost: this was a settlement. He was too caught up in hopeful thoughts of salvation to wonder how, or why, this group was here, specifically.

Though the sunrise had finished making its entrance, there weren’t many people outside to witness his arrival. A few men stood around, tending to the fire, which already looked massive enough to stay ablaze throughout the day.

Link stared at it and that enough made him feel warmer. He almost didn't say anything as he approached, too entranced by the promise of warmth. But, when one man stopped him, a firm hand on the shoulder to halt his progress, the trance was broken and Link established eye contact.

Link wanted to believe the man grabbing him was older than he, but in actuality Link had no idea how old even he was, physically or temporally. No time to think about that--the man holding him by the shoulder was digging in, adding another ache to a growing list.

He feebly raised his arms, defenseless. The man did not relent.

“Who the hell are you?”

Link cleared his throat, unsure of how long it had really been since last he spoke. It took more than two attempts for the words to come out correctly, and still they were raspy: “My name’s Link, I’m trying to get to--”

The man cut him off, yanking Link closer. From here, Link saw every wrinkle around the man’s grey eyes. Everything about him was grey, from the eyes to his beard to even the clothes he was wearing. Despite this, he was red in the face: “Oh, I know exactly what you’re trying to get,” the man growled, subsequently giving Link’s shoulder a heavy shove. Link stumbled backwards and fell, his head bouncing off the cold dirt below. “Get lost, traitor,” the grey-eyed man spat after him.

Link couldn’t get out a syllable to express his new confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure how he had been deemed a traitor. The other men standing around the fire were simply staring at him, expressionless, like he wasn’t really there.

He lay back, staring at the cover of clouds above. In all his hunger, he really contemplated staying there. He wanted a glass of water and a hot meal. Maybe if sitting up were the only barrier between himself and these things, then it would have been easier.

The only thing that could pull his attention away from the sky and thoughts of consumable salvation was the sound of footsteps approaching him. Unlike the grey man’s, these were lighter and less of a stomp.

A woman crouched down at his side. Squinting, all he could see was a navy blue apron hugging her knees, her round face backlit by the sun behind her. Despite a lack of visibility, she was clearly reaching out, offering him a hand.

Reluctantly, he took it. She got him on his feet. Turning to the small group beyond the fire, she said, “How could this man be violent? Look at him! Not a single weapon on him.” She gave him another once-over. “Not even any supplies… just where  _ did  _ you come from?”

Before Link could answer, the grey man, who had since returned to standing around the fire, arms crossed, said, “It’s a perfect ruse, Senne. He just happens to show up here, empty-handed in rags, hoping we’d take him in? He’s a spy who probably abandoned all his belongings in the fields.”

The woman addressed as Senne folded her own arms, too. “If he wanted to fight, you could take him out without breaking a sweat. Just see what he wants.” She then turned to him, giving him a silent cue to finally just say something. 

He _ wanted  _ to smugly clarify that even without a weapon, he wouldn’t have any issue winning a fight,  _ had he a meal _ , but that was inappropriate. In all honesty, Link felt here like an alienated third party in this argument. Therefore, he said nothing. His head was beginning to hurt for more than one reason.

The man with gray hair raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Link to say something. Link was waiting for himself to say something, too. There was so much that he needed in this moment that he didn't know where to begin. Quietly, like talking would somehow incriminate him, he said, "I need water. I'm starving. Please.” Link wasn’t one to beg, but these people didn’t know it. Seemingly, no one knew who he was.

Again.

Senne cupped her hand over his shoulder, as if to comfort him. It made him wince once more. "We'll get you taken care of," she promised, and the man exhaled sharply, like he was upset about it, but Link didn't have the energy for guilt.

At Senne's suggestion, Link sat down in a chair by the fire, close enough to no longer feel the air's chill on his face. The other men stood opposite the flame, like it was protecting them. No matter what heinous things they'd seen from whatever spies they were so afraid of, surely Link looked desolate enough to avoid this scrutiny. But, he didn't say anything of the sort, instead thanking them and especially Senne for the water. He drank it too fast and found himself in a coughing fit. 

Once he was done, he put down his empty cup and stared into the fire. This was not, and likely would not become a welcome environment. He had to figure out his next step. The dark aura of the castle was pressing, but even more so was the threat of starving.

Looking around, Link decided this settlement was relatively new: not one of the homes appeared to be in any sort of disarray. They all looked pristine, though hastily built. All the roads in this tiny town were dirt and loose stone. Nothing looked permanent or old, except for the people, who looked exhausted. Or, at least, the people watching him with obvious scrutiny did.

Though partially delirious, Link assumed that they had just come here, but from where? Nothing in their dress was a giveaway as to where they could have relocated from. Perhaps Castle Town, where Link barely remembered hearing of plans for restoration, but would not explain why they settled so… close. The castle loomed on their horizon.

With nothing to lose, Link stood up. All eyes were on him. "I promise I mean no harm," Link said quietly, voice barely audible over the cracking wood. It hurt to speak, like he’d just gotten done being choked. No one said anything while he paused. Assuming they were waiting for some explanation, he continued, "I don't know how to prove to you that I'm not..." He stopped for a second, widening his eyes slightly like he'd just remembered something. 

And he had: the faint triangular outline of a royal insignia remained on the back of his left hand. Assumed to be a birthmark as a child, no one realized until he became a knight that the white scarry mark was something more. He kept it covered after joining the castle guard, acting like it was a secret.

Mostly, he ignored it. With the way his life had gone, it was less of a mark of the Goddess and more of a curse mark. He hadn’t known it as a kid, but it meant that he was in for a lifetime of suffering. Lifetimes.

He walked around the fire, back to the grey man, holding out an empty, cold hand, palm down. The man looked at Link like he’d lost his mind. Not a far-fetched accusation. 

“I don’t know if this means anything, and I know it sounds crazy, but I was once a knight, It was probably a hundred years ago that I--”

“Oh yeah, sure,” said the grey man incredulously. “You mean that wretched excuse of a landmark?” He jabbed a finger in the general direction of the castle’s sinister silhouette, almost poking one of the other men in the skull in the process. “By the Goddesses, do you think I’m a fool?”

Link raised an eyebrow. “I mean--well--Uh...” There was no easy way to explain this, not even to someone open-minded. “Look, I’ve been… gone for a while. It was a long time ago. I don’t know how long.” He was clamoring for something to support himself on, never a man known for his words. 

“Even so, you’re young,” the man scoffed. “There’s no way you were a knight when the royal family lived there. No one made it out.”

Again, Link’s eyes widened, a combination of confusion, repulsion, and pure desperation. He wanted answers but knew they would not be here. Still, he couldn’t help but whimper, “What happened?”

The grey man and everyone else looked at him like he was, again, insane. He backpedaled again: “I lost my memory, and I haven’t been--”

“How convenient.” The man stepped forward, grabbing for Link. Even painfully hungry, he evaded the man’s grip.

It was a longshot, but he asked, “How long ago was Calamity Ganon?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, but he did not answer. Instead, he spat, “Don’t change the subject. Come on,” and he grabbed Link by his upper arm and though Link tried to match the man’s pace, he was partially dragged to a building noticeably larger than the houses from earlier.

Instead of questioning where he was going, because that was an easy guess, he didn't say anything and let himself be taken away. He didn't even look back at the people by the fire. This town was a mystery and it was not his responsibility to solve it. 

The building, which he assumed was a town hall of sorts, was in a stage of newness that preceded furnishings. The walls, made of thin wood, harbored a room that was nearly empty. Some mismatched chairs and floor mats lined the edges of the main room. A hallway immediately branched off on the right, and that is the hallway Link was led down. 

The little township was so new that apparently their jail cells, were they to have any, were still in need of actually being constructed. Link was put in a small room that resembled the beginnings of an office. It had a desk and a chair and a few stacks of papers. Lines were drawn on two walls to show where windows would one day go.

"Don't touch anything," Link was instructed, the man's voice still painfully gruff. "We'll be back later, after we figure out what to do with you.”

The door slammed and rattled in its frame, clearly not fitting properly. Despite the lack of decor literally everywhere in this building, the door locked, evidently from both sides. Link eyed the stacks of papers. Something in there must have been worth protecting.

Not that he cared, though, because he sat in the chair and fell asleep with his head down on the cold wood. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but legs were aching from the hike from the Plateau to here and sitting just felt nice right now. He wasn't tired, per se, but he knew that his body would have to readjust to existing vertically.

It seemed to have only gotten colder during his brief sleep. He was startled awake by the sound of the door shaking, unlocking. Link was shivering when the door opened with a hideous creak. It was one of the men from the fire earlier. Link glanced at him and looked away. The man did the same.

Link could not ignore the bowl of soup placed before him. It was steaming and he was so damn hungry. The broth was dark and Link couldn't distinguish exactly what vegetables were in it: either really dark potatoes or alarmingly light carrots, but he again did little to care. There wasn't a spoon, but Link didn't notice as he automatically lifted the bowl and drank from it. 

The man spoke while Link ate. "I don't know what kind of company would just show up here of all places, especially looking as sick and tired as you. Our mayor seems to think you're from the old village, but I feel like I'd remember someone like you." When Link stopped to breathe, he noticed that the man had laid down a spoon. 

Link didn't answer because there was still food in front of him. The man walked out, left the door open behind him.

When the soggy vegetable soup was gone, Link noisily put down the ceramic dish and glanced up at the open door. He made a quick exit strategy in his head, but it was thwarted when that man came back in with a chair and what looked to be a steaming kettle. 

"I want to hear your story, kid," the man said, placing the chair on the opposite side of the desk and closing the door. Link didn't change his expression when he locked the door with both of them inside. 

Link, a kid by no means, simply stared while the man poured two cups of tea. It was a dark green, nearly purple; unlike any tea Link had ever seen before. He took a deep breath, staring at the liquid as it steeped, clenched his fists, and told the truth. In three sentences or less, he tried to wrap up the memories he'd retained, but their flow really did stop almost right after the downfall of Calamity Ganon. It frustrated him. He finished with, "And then I went home." he was speaking slowly, not sure if this part had actually happened. "Next thing I know is that I'm here again."

"Again?"

Link took a sip of the tea. It was wildly bitter, but Link drank it anyway if not for the warmth. "I mean, the Plateau. Waking up."

"Ah." The man took a longer drink of his, clearly not noticing that it was just a step up from river water. "So where's home for you? Are you going to go back?"

Again hesitating, Link said, "Hateno. I... can't go back. I have things to do."

"I see. I used to visit Hateno, as a kid. Quite a ways away, if I recall correctly. I haven't been in years. Not since my grandpop died." He paused, and Link wondered if it was so that he could express condolences. He had none to offer. The pause teetered between pensive and awkward.

Changing the subject entirely, Link asked, "what's happening at the castle? Where is the royal family?"

"Oh, uh..." The man scratched the back of his head. "I don't know where to begin with that one. The new King had them flee. Anyway, he'd've killed them if he had the chance, I think. That was years ago. We don't know where they are now. Can’t say that anyone does."

Link didn't respond, allowing the man to say as much as he wanted. "It was really just a lot to deal with. That's why our settlement here split off from our village up in Hebra. They supported the royal family, you know? They denounced the King. We left. We just didn't want to be killed by monsters for it." He shuddered, and was then done talking.

Usually, in times like this, Link would let someone else tell him what to say. He was nostalgic for when a spirit would whisper into his ear or when Zelda’s voice drifted to him like a leaf in a breeze. He was alone, and lacking elegance. A simple "I'm sorry" was all he could muster. 

"I'm sure you can now understand why we're a bit apprehensive about outsiders, huh?" the man chuckled. Link's expression did not move. If anything, it became more grave.

"So, what do you mean, killed for it?"

The man was pouring himself a second cup of tea. Link accepted the offer for a second cup, himself. "Well, the King is extinguishing anyone opposed to his reign." He leaned in. So did Link, automatically. He was just above a whisper as he explained. "Understand that we don't really support him, not all the way. We've just been offering him portions of our food and occasionally some livestock in exchange for safety from his monsters."

"This man sounds like a bully," Link muttered. After a beat, he said, "I think I have to stop him." He leaned back in the stiff chair. Is this what the Goddess had planned for him this time around? Would She even tell him, were that the case?

During the new pause that was growing between them, Link wondered if he shouldn't have said that. The man looked concerned, and was now avoiding eye contact with Link. Link cleared his throat. "Look, I--"

"We can't condone that kind of behavior." The man stood up. "But I think that if we did, we'd tell you that there's a bag of food and supplies beside the fireplace in the main room." He looked at Link, giving him a look that asked if he understood. Solemn, Link nodded. 

The man continued. "If we did, for some reason, condone the downfall of the King, I think we'd let you know that this door comes right off if you pull it up rather than in. But we don't, so we wouldn't just tell you that. 

"And we especially wouldn't tell you that the mayor is leaving on the hour to deliver our haul to the King's monsters just west of here and he won't be here to stop you from leaving. But," he opened the door but hesitated in the doorway. "I will tell you that Calamity Ganon is history. Probably some four hundred years ago." His glance was apologetic, and he locked Link back in the room.

There was half a cup of tea left in the kettle. As it cooled off, the color became a deeper purple and it became sweeter. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Four hundred years was a lot to digest. He had nothing but time right now until the mayor left and he could escape, but he didn't want to think about what could have happened in four hundred years. There was no way that Zelda was waiting for him now.

Dejected, he stared at the ceiling until he decided he couldn't stand it anymore. The door, as promised, came right out of its frame when he pulled it straight up with enough force. He leaned it against the wall, not bothering to put it back.

As promised, the bag was beside a fireplace that looked wholly unused. He checked its contents: bread, bags of what he assumed to be spices, some vegetables, bandages, a cooking pot and a canteen of water. Most importantly, a woven shawl was folded beneath it. Before closing the bag back up and putting it on, he put on the shawl, still shivering as he did so. The bag, slung over his shoulder, was moderately heavy, but not completely a burden, knowing it would get lighter as he ate some of the food inside.

No one was around as he exited the town hall. The mayor was going west and the castle was north. With nowhere else to go, he directed himself toward the castle and was off. 

Before making it out, a child called out a window at him. "Good luck, hero!" was all he heard. He took a deep breath and waved in the direction of the noise.

He had no idea what had happened to Hyrule, but it was his destiny to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> link gets bad news and cries

Dead leaves announced his arrival. Every step felt louder than the last. There was nothing he could do to evade them. In the middle of an empty Hyrule Field, Link had no one to hide from. The rhythm of his crunchy footsteps was all he had to keep him company.

That was, until he arrived at the towering gray wall separating Castle Town from the rest of Hyrule.

He had a very distant feeling that this was wrong. He didn’t have a particular memory to support that notion--there had been a wall, albeit destroyed, in the past, after all. The wall was high, even in its partial destruction, and watch towers stood at intervals. Narrow windows upon them had him feeling like he was being watched. Every few steps, another bird would jump out from its hiding place and flutter off. Link hoped this feeling was just from the birds.

In the four centuries where he’d apparently been asleep, all the guardians had disappeared. There wasn’t a trace of any malice or machine here to guard the town.

Common sense told him not to use the main gate of the wall. Without getting close, he surveyed for an accessible way in. When he found a portion of the wall collapsed enough for him to clamber over with minor difficulty, he stood up upon it and got his first good look at the castle.

Whatever bad feeling Link had before was suddenly replaced with something he couldn’t exactly label. Disgust, maybe: the castle looked to be made entirely of dark, impeccable marble, but in places he could see cleanly through the gaps between the sheets and saw familiar, crumbly stone. Maybe it wasn’t the same stone of the castle he’d once liberated, but it felt familiar.

Behind the castle there was a river. Link knew this not because he could see it, but because he remembered having used it to sneak in before fighting Calamity Ganon. He climbed a little higher on the wall but still couldn’t see any water. Instead, the castle stretched on past where the river once was. Upon further inspection, he could determine that construction was still going on. 

Red and black monsters resembling Moblins, but not quite, were huddled around the construction in groups. They were taller than any Moblin he’d remembered, and lankier, and terrifying. He could not see any faces; they all wore masks as they tore down the trees surrounding the castle.

Having no intentions of being seen today, Link slid back down to the lower part of the wall. The Castle Town before him was in shambles. Before, strings of Calamity Ganon’s presence were strewn throughout the rubble. This time, it was just rubble. If Link looked hard enough he’d be able to make out a Hylian skeleton or a partially-decomposed corpse. He couldn’t look at the scene for long.

A breeze gently guided him back down to solid ground, rendering him unable to view any further carnage.

Even though he’d been told that the royal family wasn’t here, he had to see for himself. Maybe some part of him wished he hadn’t done just that, having seen the stains of his people’s blood in the cobblestone, still there somehow after all this time. There was no one here that could help him; that much was obvious. 

Nearby was supposed to be an old plaza. He’d once gathered here with the Champions from all the corners of the kingdom: a motley of people with one common goal though they didn’t always see eye to eye. 

Countless times, he’d been challenged to numerous battles and arbitrary competitions with Revali, only to be stopped by Urbosa, who’d let Zelda give them an earful on the meaning of respect, especially in the presence of royals. In the distance, Urbosa would wink at them before leaving them at Zelda’s mercy.

He’d listen to Daruk’s analyses of Goron City politics over a meal, carefully paying attention though he didn’t think he’d ever have to consider the town’s rock reserves for himself. Though their friendship was mostly professional, and not coincidental, Link wanted the Calamity to never come so he could instead go to the City and attempt to decipher Goron “cuisine.”

He had never felt more at ease under the careful eyes of Mipha. He’d never felt more safe. Link swallowed hard, deciding he couldn’t think about it.

He wondered if he was going to ever have friends like that again as he stood on the cracked patio, no remnants of any of their existences.

He sat down, and rocks and sticks warned him against getting comfortable. He’d been initiated here. He’d been the last Champion to officially join the ranks. From that point on, he hadn’t been alone, even after every other Champion fell one by one. 

Now, he was just lost.

He whipped his head around to look back at the castle, remembering something.

Lost.

He’d felt foolish for not going there first--the Lost Woods would certainly be of more use than this cache of horrors. Given the depths of its labyrinth, there was no way anyone unworthy had gotten in, and surely there would be at least one creature there who could guide him, or even dig up some old memory. Someone there could help him.

Now full of tentative hope and far from being tired, it felt appropriate to travel straight through to the woods without a further break. It would certainly get dark before his arrival, but it would be a safe place for him to rest when he did.

Though it was practically a straight shot from here to the woods, Link determined it appropriate to backtrack slightly so not to deal with whatever those creatures were by the castle. There was no doubt they’d be hostile, regardless if they knew who Link was.

Despite his determination, the soles of his feet were beginning to ache with every step. Stopping was not part of the plan, but it was so tempting. He didn’t even know for sure if he was going to be able to take solace in the Korok forest, but it was all he had to go on.

The dark fortress disguised as a castle disappeared behind him just as it was beginning to get dark. Link barely registered that there was no longer a stable to pass in the Woodland area.

The path to the Lost Woods, at least, was familiar. The Woodland Tower still landmarked the area. Genuinely, without it, Link wouldn’t have realized where he was. The training grounds were sinking into the seemingly bottomless mud pit, and it wouldn’t be long before they became as extinct as everything else he remembered. Only bits of old climbing walls poked out, apparently just as stubborn to exist as he.

A log was partially submerged in the mess, but Link was able to use it as a bridge across with only minor difficulty. Balance was never his forte outside of combat. What mud managed to cling to his boots was freezing; even through the leather he could feel its chill.

Link took one last look at the sky. It would get dark very soon. He didn’t care. He ventured into the cloak of the Lost Woods and the sun ceased to matter.

_ Zelda had made this journey with him last time. She’d unceremoniously returned the Master Sword to its home the first time Link had been… incapacitated. It only made sense for her to go with him to return it this time. She’d heard the sword speak to her, she’d said, and though Link couldn’t grasp what exactly that meant, it felt right for her to accompany him to return it this time around. Not to mention that the thought being separated again after all this time was painful. _

_ “Are you sure you remember the correct route?” She’d asked as they became shrouded in the natural darkness. Link had lit their torch, tilted his head directionally in response. He had never needed to speak around her. She understood him. _

_ His look said,  _ well, do you?  _ And she seemed to take comfort in that as they navigated the wood. _

_ Every few paces, he’d stop to recalibrate their path. Taking her hand as she ventured on, he’d finally speak.  _

_ “You have to stay on the path. I can’t lose you.” _

There wasn’t a fire to guide him this time. This didn’t pose as much of a problem as his lack of a torch, or even a dry branch to snap off. Everything felt ominously damp. He had nothing to guide him to the heart of the woods, save his memory.

He laughed at that, just between him and the empty pedestal where a fire once waited. His memory had quite a track record for being unhelpful. The empty pillar did not laugh with him.

Regardless, he didn’t want to waste time. He left behind the safety of the exit and was lost almost immediately. Despite this, he did not stop.

That was, until he stumbled upon two bodies. He could smell them before he saw them, especially with the very convenient lack of lighting from the menacing trees. With a weathered, muddy boot, he nudged one of them, forcing it over.

Both of them were Sheikah, that much was obvious. Though horrified to have stumbled upon them, he was oddly, harrowingly comforted by their familiar clothing. The Sheikah were a timeless race, it seemed: the familiar insignia worn on their chests, though damned by blood stains, stared up at Link through the dark.

He studied their partially decayed faces. They couldn’t have been here long. They smelled worse than they looked. 

It was very strange how quickly Link found himself completely void of thought. No urges to hurry along were passing through. He sat with these corpses for a long time.

When a tear fell from one of his eyes, he came back to reality, wondering why they had been here. What were the Sheikah doing in the Lost Woods? What was their business here? What was the business of their killer?

Clearing the moisture from his face, he blinked hard, hoping these bodies would not be here when he opened his eyes once more.

They still were.

As though it caused him physical pain to do so, he winced as he pried an Eightfold Blade from one of their fingers. Now anticipating there was something malicious here, Link needed… something.

The cold hilt of the sword felt sickeningly comfortable in his hand. Gently, trying to be respectful, he removed the blade's holster from the man's torso. Dried blood mixed with caked mud flaked off as he clipped it over his shoulder. He ignored it. Instead, he whispered a simple, meager, insufficient  _ thank you  _ and had to be on his way.

As he stood, he noticed that the other man had dropped a torch. Link felt much less guilty taking it. No lifeless fingers to pry it from.

The torch, of course, wasn't lit, but Link took it anyway. Surely if this man had a torch, he'd have had some flint, too. Link apologized and reached into the man’s pockets. He held his breath until he closed his fingers around a chunk of the rock.

Link now had a light. He felt a heavy cost in return for it. He couldn't quite fathom being thankful that these Sheikah had died here, but now he’d be safe for the rest of this journey.

Swallowing his anxiety, Link left the two unnamed men behind. The flame told him where to go. The heat it emitted to his face left his back feeling colder. Link found himself often looking over his shoulder as he got nearer to the Korok Forest. No one was here.

_ They’d been close to the Korok’s sanctuary when Zelda had said that the Master Sword itself had told her where to go. Link didn’t doubt this, but had never heard such a thing himself. _

_ There was no voice as he’d lowered the legendary weapon into what they all had thought would be its final resting place.  _

It wasn’t there. It was not waiting for his return.

The pedestal was cracked, dislodged, and empty.

It was  _ empty. _

Link didn’t even make it to the stone that housed it before he collapsed, sinking to his knees. The fire he carried went out as he dropped the torch, but the Korok woods were always engulfed in its own mysterious light. He couldn’t lose sight of the empty place where his sword was supposed to be.

He’d put it there himself. He was the only one able to remove it, that was the Goddess’ will. That sword was his original destiny--so whose was it now?

Someone spoke. Link snapped his head nearly straight up, instantly recognizing it.

The Great Deku Tree looked down at him. His bark, once a rich umber, was now turning ashy green, growing mossy in all directions. He was rotting. The spirit of the forest was dying.

“Link,” he said again.

The man on the ground looked onward, said nothing. A familiar face was supposed to have brought him comfort. It did not. He was abhorred.

“What… happened here?” his voice must have been damn near nonexistent to the Tree, so far from him.

“Link…” The Tree’s voice was just as frail, so clearly on the brink of death. If Link hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have been now.

Instead of answering him, dispersing information and guidance that Link needed so badly, the Tree said, “What happened to  _ you?” _

Link took a deep breath, a genuine effort to steady himself. He still shook when he said, “I don’t know.”

The Tree paused, pursed his dry lips. “The Koroks have been lost,” he finally said. Link wondered if trees could cry.

“Lost.”

“Something terrible swept through…” he trailed off, furrowing leafy eyebrows.

Link shook his head, dizzying himself, no noise escaping him.

“You need to know, before... “ A pause. Link mechanically stumbled forward, willing the Tree to speak. “A child came. He came for the sword.”

“Okay.” That didn’t seem important anymore.

“He was not the only one who sought its power. Another came. When he could not find it, he…” the Tree coughed. The noise shook Link’s bones. Link did not feel it. “He made my children pay the price.”

No. Oh no. Oh no no no.

The Deku Tree seemed unaware that Link was falling apart. He continued to speak.

“And he…” Link’s head was full of static. He barely heard “...looked just like you.”

He was almost unable to comprehend this. Subconsciously, he did comprehend it, and responded by collapsing into the grass. Though he was mumbling, the Deku Tree understood when Link whimpered, “Me? I couldn’t… I couldn’t’ve…”

"I know.” The Deku Tree took a slow, labored breath. “It was a shadow of your past self. An evil being, forged from magic. This… was not your fault."

Link was breathing fast now. He looked toward the pedestal again. His sword was missing, in the hands of... a child, unless this shadow had gotten to it since.

The Deku Tree shuddered, leaves falling all around Link. If they had been green as they detached from his branches, they were brown and decomposing by the time they reached the forest floor. It was here Link noticed chips of bark and branches sticking up through the fallen leaves.

They were not just bits of bark and branches…

They were corpses.

The forest was full of corpses now. 

Link scrambled on his knees to the nearest Korok, cradling it in his arms. This had to have been fresh. Link could smell… broken stems, something freshly cut. Something that smelled of sickly distress. Green, mossy gore had emanated from every direction. Link found his hands covered in it as it continued to drip from undetectable wounds.

He apologized to them in a voice that was meant to be penitent. To him, it sounded abrasive and obligatory. 

There was nothing he could do for them now. He corrected this one’s crooked mask as he continued to cradle it, unable to emote any further. Innards spread across his clothes. They were cold. He was shivering for more than one reason.

"What do I do?" he asked, shedding his usual air of stoicism. His voice was shaking.

"I don't have a lot of time. You need to know this." The Deku Tree made no acknowledgment to whomever Link was holding. He went on, "A Gerudo King was born, but his heart was corrupted. He's left his people. He resides in Hyrule Castle."

Link couldn't stop shivering. He didn't feel like he was physically there anymore.

“It’s been four hundred years. No one really knew what happened.”

Link was unfazed by this. It wasn’t news.

The deceased Korok’s mask was slipping again. Link fixed it once more. He knew the damage that one hundred years had done to him, but couldn’t imagine that damage fourfold.

“The Gerudo King must be stopped. He will destroy this land. The Child has the only weapon that can stop him. It cannot fall into the Shadow's hands." 

Link nodded in agreement, as if that was something that could be argued. He held the Korok a little tighter.

“You may stay here for as long as you need, but…” the Deku Tree furrowed his eyebrows again. “I do not have much life left. The world needs you, but it does not deserve you. We will be in your debt for the remainder of time, Link.”

The Tree didn't say anything else. Leaves continued to fall from above until there was nothing left and Link could see a rising moon peeking through the dead branches. The forest remained light.

Link put down the body he’d been cradling. He felt like throwing up as he looked on to see the countless fallen siblings.

He was alone again, and no one knew how much time he spent here. He crawled to the pedestal, seeking solace in the Master Sword-shaped opening on it, wishing now more than ever that he had… guidance. Even a glimmer of Zelda’s voice to pull him back on track was better than nothing.

He was granted nothing.

He cried as he clambered into the cavern that once housed an inn. The Koroks had designated this spot exclusively for him almost half a millennium ago. It had partially caved in, but Link didn’t need its entire expanse. He needed to hear a chipper, “When do you want me to wake you up, Mr. Hero?”

Instead, his shallow breaths and remorseful whimpers filled the hollow space of the Great Deku Tree’s rotting shell. The mulch floor was no comfort to him, nor were the mushrooms he’d been able to forage after waking up from a restless sleep. Though they looked fine, they tasted like rotting wood.

The entire night was a wash. Link wouldn’t remember any of it after he made his final departure. No Koroks bade him goodbye. Link wasn’t sure he could do it, either.


	3. Chapter 3

A lonesome cuckoo outside was screaming. Its owner was unknown and no one cared to investigate. This particular cuckoo decided when this street was going to begin functioning for the day, after all, and after doing so for years without ownership there was no sense in ceasing that tradition now.

Jostled from his sleep, the child rolls over, making some sort of attempt to ignore the wake up call: just because he had woken up didn’t mean that he wanted to get out of bed. The blanket he had spent the night curled up in was so much warmer than anything outside of it. He was certain that no one would take immediate notice if he simply stayed here for an extra few minutes, taking in the remnants of his dream. 

It had been a nice one, dropping him off at a lonely beach. It wasn’t the one at the cliff by his house, either: the sand was warmer, whiter. It was so soft, and even now he could still imagine the warmth of it on his bare soles. The memory could have burned him as he stood there, and then…

It was gone. The entire dream pulled away from him like a curtain abruptly dropped on a stage before the show was complete.

At the same time, from somewhere below him, someone yelled his name. He’d been so enthralled in the comfort of his bed that he hadn’t heard her. It wasn’t until he heard someone approach the ladder that led to his loft did he even sit up.

The bed beside his was empty. At some point between the cuckoo’s call and now, his sister had gotten up and started her day.

He had no choice but to mentally prepare for the cold to encapsulate him as he surrendered his quilt for the day. It was not as bad as he anticipated. He located a mismatched set of socks and descended the ladder before anyone could make it up.

His sister was waiting at the bottom. Arielle, his older twin, was shorter than him by three halves of an inch, but made up for it in her personality: loud, abrasive, and impatient. Her arms were crossed. “Momma and I have been calling you down for ten minutes! Really, what is up with you lately?” She unfolded her arms, took her brother by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen where their mother had begun breakfast.

It seemed that the day had begun without him: the eggs that he knew he was supposed to have gotten this morning from down the street were already cracked, cooked, and sitting at the table waiting for him. A pang of guilt was replaced by a pang of hunger, and he didn’t make it to the table before his mother stopped him.

“Not so fast. You need to put out the laundry, young man. You missed all the morning chores.”

Putting out the laundry turned into watering the garden, which took enough time for his breakfast no longer to be steaming when he sat down. Arielle had already finished her meal and was washing her plate.

His mother thanked him for his chores but didn’t say anything more. Everyone’s been tired lately. The child wouldn’t admit it but this was amounting to the worst summer vacation ever. The pumpkin patch his family managed had fallen into his mother’s hands when their father had to start a new job, one where the child barely saw him anymore. Mother had requested her children’s help with the sowing, and the carrying, and the selling, and keeping smiles on their faces.

The child, twelve years old and approaching thirteen, was nervous that all of his friends would forget him when school resumed in the fall. When he was washing up his plate, his eyes lit up when mother told him that he and Arielle could go out with his friends today instead.

Arielle expressed the excitement that he just couldn’t. She clapped and ran upstairs to change clothes, leaving the child alone with his mother. She said, “I want you two back before your father comes home. And you still have to wash your clothes, too. You don’t want to be doing that in the dark.” 

She tilted her head at her son and he nodded in response. He wouldn't confess to a fear of the dark, but Arielle mentioned it often. He'd sleep with a candle at his bedside. Someone blew it out every night after he drifted off--likely his sister, who constantly complained of how annoying and babyish it was that she, too, had to sleep with the light. The boy was selfless when it came to his sister, but this was one place where he was not willing to budge. The candle stayed.

She looked a way that the child could only describe as sad as she saw them off. The twins scurried off down the street as she watched them from the front door, arms folded and a frown drawn across her lips.

“Since you slept so late, I don’t think Eileen is going to be waiting for us today,” Arielle said, disgusted, dragging her little brother through the crowd of people shopping in town square. He tilted his head, confused: they rarely got days to play with the kids from school, so he figured that there were other, more apparent reasons there would be no one waiting for them.

The homes and storefronts lined the paths all the way down the hill. Some of them were not in ideal locations, flooding when it rained too hard, but the town had gone where the land allowed it. The boy had heard stories of how this area was all once forest. He didn't believe it. 

The tower stood off-center in his little hometown, a meeting spot for all the kids when they weren't in school. No one really knew what this particular structure stood for, and over time the town had decided to just avoid the things not understood. The child had been told conflicting stories by neighbors, teachers, and friends. He figured that the easiest way to interpret everyone’s speculations was to ignore them all. 

The fact that the tower stood sturdy all this time felt like a miracle on its own. Even now, as he stood at its monumental base, it felt like it was a feat that it was simply standing. It felt too narrow to support whatever it was waiting at the top. Nature had partially reclaimed it, and thorns and poison ivy deterred anyone from trying to scale it. The child could only stare on in awe.

Today, he had no time to do such staring. His sister dragged him on by, further and further down the hills of the outskirts of Hateno Town. Finally, they reached a lining of trees, and then an open plain where only wildflowers seemed capable of life.

There were six or seven kids running around waving sticks at one another. One, in particular, noticed their approach, and came running to meet them at the edge. It was Eileen, and if the child didn’t notice it by her shrill voice screaming as she ran in their direction, it was the giant, holey straw hat she donned on her head. She boasted that she’d made it herself, and it had shown as pieces of it began to fray away. 

She greeted them with a wide, lopsided smile. “We’ve missed you guys,” she said eagerly. “We’re playing castle today.”

There was clearly no room for any hostility, not a single “where have you been?” to disrupt things. He and his sister weren’t the only ones with extra responsibilities at home. When they began the meetups in the field, the whole class had been there. None of the kids talked about it. The boy didn’t mind. 

He picked up a hefty stick tucked away under a wiry tree, one purposefully left there that he’d spent days whittling into the rough shape of a sword. He was glad no one had messed with it in his absence. He was proud of it for its craftsmanship, even if the stick had bits of knotted wood and bark highlighting imperfections.

The group had left lengths of rope lying around to represent castle walls. The child wondered if the size of their “castle” could compare to the one in the west. He wondered if he’d ever get to see it, even if it wasn’t safe for kids like him (according to mother and father).

His role in the game today was to play a castle guard. It meant that he didn’t have to say or do much of anything at all, and for the most part, he was left alone. The first thing he did once he got to his position was kick off his shoes, hoping the late summer grass could replicate that memory from his dream. It was almost the same. He felt comfortable this way.

One of the boys in the group decided that he was going to be an intruder today. It was up to the boy and his sister to keep him out of the castle and keep the princess (Eileen) safe. He pretended to sneak over a castle wall, only to be stopped by the child, wooden weapon in hand. 

The classmate he was fighting, a dark-haired kid whose name proved to be elusive, had a much longer, flimsier branch he was using as a staff. The boy had no issue ducking and jumping away from these attacks. 

“Come on, make it a challenge, dummy,” said his opponent, encouraging the child into an offensive stance, regaining his ground.

It was almost effortless, the way he could block this particular stick from making contact with him. For a fraction of a second, the child got lost in the movement, and--

\--misjudged the distance between himself and his opponent, and the other boy didn’t block in time, and accidentally cut him. Really, really cut him: blood was blossoming in the shoulder of the dark-haired kid’s shirt.

The boy looked at his weapon. He’d made sure it wasn’t sharp. He’d gone out of his way to smooth all the rough edges. 

The wood was now sporting a streak of blood down one side. The boy dropped it into the warm grass like it was suddenly too heavy to bear.

The bleeding kid howled in pain, and Arielle stepped in to apologize on her brother’s behalf. She didn’t get out a single syllable before she was cut off. “No. I want to hear the freak say it. This is his fault.” He raised his own stick to the boy’s face, inches from his chest.

He hesitated. He said nothing. The only thing that felt right was to turn heel and sprint back home, leaving his shoes behind. All he could hear was Arielle calling out to him.

“Come back, Link!”

  
  


The cuckoo down the street did not wake him up today. It was still dark, the wax from his bedside candle still warm. His sister was shaking him by the shoulder.

“It’s delivery day, sleepyhead. If you don’t get up soon I’m going to leave without you.” Arielle finished her statement by tearing the quilt from his body, leaving him at the mercy of the summer morning’s chill. 

He groaned, but he did get up. This day came once a fortnight, and he miraculously hadn’t missed any yet.

Delivery day was a new little tradition that had breached Hateno Town. Despite its novelty, it wasn’t so new that the boy didn’t remember a time in his life where he wasn’t up before the sun, struggling to determine which side of his slacks were the front.

Below him, at ground level, he could hear his father getting ready for the day. Only on the delivery days did he get to see him before he left. He was a different man in the morning. Happier, maybe, but definitely friendlier. The boy half slid, half fell down the ladder just to see him off every chance he got.

“Give this to the guardsmen for me,” his father whispered, handing off a small bag of what was unmistakably packed with rupees. The boy put it into the front pocket of his tunic, and it bulged out beyond the garment’s seams, but it was better off in his hands than his sister’s, who had pocketed some for candy and stuffed animals twice before getting caught. 

Arielle was waiting for him at the door. They were not the only children out before sunrise. Though it wasn’t an assemblage of all the kids on the street, seeing two or three people walk by was enough for the child and his sister to know that they were right on time. 

“Papa told me we need to get seeds, and if we can, wool,” Arielle muttered as they joined the procession of children on a mission. The child nodded in affirmation and followed her down the hill, toward the inexplicable tower.

Whatever soldiers managed to survive since the Gerudo King publicly disbanded the royal guard were sent here every two weeks to make trades with the castle. None of the congregating kids seemed to know why, but they were all eager to get here in their parent’s stead to get first pick of whatever they may need for the week.

And, for those who arrived before the royal guard, often they were presented with small canvas bags of miscellaneous candies,  _ for free.  _ Occasionally, there were toys or other knick-knacks to fight over, but candy seemed to be a peaceful offering among them. Once, the boy nearly broke another kid’s nose with his elbow (on accident!) while trying to grab a stuffed rabbit for Arielle. That was one of the last times they’d brought toys for the crowd.

The gates to Hateno Town were seldom closed. This morning was no exception, but no kid dared cross the threshold out of bounds. Two adults were mixed into the crowd, but based on their laxed expressions they weren’t here for the candy. They were here in case Hateno Town were ever to be under attack. 

It seemed a foolish role: the boy vividly remembered in his last history class that in Hateno’s multi-century lifespan, no one had ever managed an ambush here, let alone succeeded at one. The fort at the very bottom of the hill, further than the boy had ever gone, was all the protection they needed. These guards were here for peace of mind, if nothing else. 

The soldiers hadn’t arrived yet, but it was still just a little early. The boy could hear their horses trotting up the gravel in the distance. 

He’d always been awestruck by the horses: many teachers told him that horses were very rare these days. He couldn’t imagine a time where they would run around in the wild, but apparently it wasn’t that long ago.

Despite his amazement, he’d always been afraid to touch the horses. Arielle would make fun of him for it, at home. How could he be so in love with something but afraid to touch it when it’s right there? And the child didn’t know how to defend himself. Every time he told himself,  _ this is it. This is the time I’ll pet one of their soft-looking manes,  _ he’d seize up and cower behind his sister.

Finally, in what felt like slow motion, they arrived, and two men dismounted their great creatures and greeted the small crowd gathered. 

The boy yawned as he raised his arm to wave. The only solace about being awake this early was the chance of running home with a bag of butterscotch discs, a luxury his parents would never allow him otherwise. 

All the kids were standing at a distance from each other, like enemies. No one said anything, like they were preparing for all hell to break loose, but they were all tired. They wanted to get their parent’s supplies, and their candy, and go back to sleep until the cuckoos cried for them to wake up once again.

One of the soldiers said from behind a silly-looking helmet, “I’m afraid we don’t have much today. There was a little bit of a mishap on the way here.” The other guard cleared his throat, silencing the first man.

The merchant soldiers would be here all day to trade with the Hateno Town residents, but by the time the children were done, there wouldn’t be much of a selection left. Arielle and her brother traded their bag of rupees for a sack of seeds in equal size, and two bags of candy, but no wool. Not a complete loss, because the boy peeked into his canvas and saw enough butterscotch discs to get him through to the next delivery day.

After making their trades, as the boy walked away with his prizes in hand, he heard one of the soldiers mutter to another, “Did you see the mark on his hand?”

Instinctively, the boy looked down at the back of his left hand, where a faint, white triangle seemed to be implanted beneath his skin. No one had ever questioned its presence, really, or its significance. The boy didn’t even know it could  _ have  _ significance. 

The sun was threatening to rise as they made it back to their home. Mother was awake, shuffling around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The boy’s stomach sank. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, after all. He clambered upstairs, tucked his candy under his pillow, and set off to do his morning chores.

\---

"It's delivery day." Arielle shook him by the shoulder to wake him up. 

Somehow, he was already awake; jolted from sleep moments ago by a chilled breeze through the open window above him.

As fall breathed its way into town, it was inevitably getting colder. School was in session once more. Every other week, less kids showed up to collect their free candy, instead getting as much sleep as they could before class. At his sister's direction, he wore a jacket today. The sleeves were too tight at the elbows. 

Today, the lineup was just the twins, three kids they'd never spoken to, and another boy who the boy recognized to be the kid he'd accidentally stabbed while playing soldiers with, months ago by now. They did not look at each other.

Today, the royal guard did not come. 

There were no horses or carts or knights. Today, coming up the hill to Hateno Town's gate was a group of half a dozen men donning wide, woven hats and face paint. The boy stared at them as they nodded at the Hateno resident guards and walked on through. They did little to acknowledge the kids. 

Hopeful for something, the handful of children waited a few minutes more. No knights showed up. The twins were the last to leave. The boy was only disappointed because his sister was. 

He could not go back to bed. Mother instructed him to wash his face and get ready for school. The water was colder than the wind had been.

Over breakfast, their mother said, "No candy today?"

"No, mama," replied Arielle. "Just some weird guys with funny face paint."

She nodded, looking solemn. Her eyebrows wrinkled together as she skewered a sausage onto her fork.

Arielle and her brother were never in any rush to get home from school. Their mother never scolded them for running late. She was never upset when they came home a little muddy. 

Today felt different.

Their brief conversation about the painted men at breakfast had made their mother visibly nervous. The twins didn’t need to discuss the importance of getting home; it just made sense.

But nothing at home seemed amiss. Mother was in the garden, humming a tune like all was right in the world. Maybe it was.

The boy did his homework at Arielle’s side. He went to the garden to look for insects in his flowers. He even fed his neighbor’s chickens some scraps of bread from yesterday, even if no one asked him to do so. All in all, a normal afternoon.

Dinner was quiet. All their meals had become quiet, even when father was home. Today was one of those rare occasions: he had gotten home from work early. His children were thrilled to have time to play with him but he shut himself in his bedroom, saying he had important work to do. He’d only emerged when Arielle had yelled to the world that it was time to eat.

Now that they were all sitting at the dinner table, the boy felt that the mood of the house had been blanketed by something somber.

The boy thought that his father was trying to lighten the mood when he said, "Did you kids learn about the story of the man who saved Hyrule not too long ago?"

The twins both nodded over their roasted potatoes, internally groaning over the thought of an unwarranted history lesson. Hadn't they gotten enough education at school today?

Their parents took turns with the story, like they'd rehearsed it. This, unfortunately, seemed to happen all the time. Everyone in this family, save himself, loved to talk. They did more than enough to compensate for his constant silence.

"Well, the Hero of Hyrule grew up right here in Hateno," said their mother.

"Yes, except back in his time, it was a tiny little town. There wasn't a whole lot going on here, in terms of business. According to the story, he lived not far from here."

The boy took another slice of bread from across the table. While his parents weren’t looking, he folded it into his pocket--for the chickens.

"One day, when he was young, he was chosen to go to the castle. Back then, Hyrule Castle was a beautiful place." The boy knew this. He'd seen pictures and paintings in his classes.

"He learned how to be a great knight. He wasn't much older than you two when he was chosen to personally be in charge of the princess' protection.”

“Miss Leigh at school said that he was sixteen, actually,” piped his sister. The boy tilted his head back, stifling another silent groan--don't ask questions. They'll talk longer.

"Well, in the scheme of things, three or four years isn't really that much." Their mother began collecting their plates, but continued to talk from the kitchen. "So, once he came to be her protection, he was named a Champion."

"There were five of them, and they were all there when something terrible happened.”

“Yes, papa, we know about the Calamity. We know what happened.”

Father smiled at her, but it was nearly completely lost in his beard. "So you know that he defeated the evil. Do you know what happened to him after?"

Here, Arielle shook her head, looking puzzled. 

Mother returned to the table, a plate of pie in each hand. She set them before the twins. The boy immediately dug in, not questioning the privileges of dessert on an ordinary night like this. 

"The Champion returned home. He came back to Hateno. Everything turned out fine. He was chosen specifically by the Goddesses to protect his land."

The boy nodded, mouth full of blackberry pie, already knowing all of this. Everyone always talked about the Champion like he was so important, even now, but that didn’t make any sense. All the stories end with the Champion’s disappearance, and obviously he couldn’t have survived all this time.

He couldn’t escape this history. Even outside, when washing the laundry in the stream at the bottom of the hill, he could look down the bank and see a stone memorial the town had built in his memory. 

It almost jarred him when his mother took him by the hand, reaching across the table to do so. "Link, sweetie," she said. "We named you after him. Do you know why?"

He looked at the hand she was holding. That faint outline on the back of his hand stared back at him. He pulled himself free and put his hands in his lap. He stared at the now half-eaten pie before him.

Perhaps he’d never thought about it long enough before to put all the right pieces together.

"You have his name because you share a birthmark. You know, some say that's in good fortune--that the Goddesses are protecting you."

“Oh! Or that they chose him!" Aster said loudly, energetically, in a way that upset the boy's stomach. He didn't want the same fate as the Champion--leaving home sounded like the most terrifying thing he could do. And yet, his parents had made it sound so fun that he almost wanted to imagine himself in  _ that _ Link's shoes. Silently, he pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come.

“Yes, it may seem that way,” said his father, voice low, almost apologetic. “Whenever evil arrives in Hyrule, the Goddesses will always send a hero to save us.”

He couldn't stop staring at the plate. This dessert was his favorite, and was only made for him on his birthday. He wouldn't be having another birthday for a while. It was getting cold, after all. It was his turn to wrinkle his face and furrow his eyebrows, trying to put together the pieces. What was happening? He clenched his fists under the table.

Arielle was putting together all the dots for him. As if it were a puzzle she’d be rewarded for solving, she was yelling, “Oh my gosh! Are those weird guys here because of the Goddesses? Are they picking a new hero?” she was practically vibrating in her chair, seemingly unaware of the situation’s severity.

“Arielle, I don’t think--” began their father, and the boy wanted to know what he was going to say before he stopped himself.

Mother picked up where he faltered. “We don’t know, honey. Either way, they want to meet you, Link. They think it is you.”

_ I don’t want to be the hero. _

The boy suddenly thought of the wooden dagger he'd crafted. He thought of the blood it had absorbed by the time he hit the grassy earth below. He clenched his fists tighter. He was blinking fast. 

Before anyone else could say anything, the boy sprang up from the table. His chair clattered sideways onto the floor behind him. He couldn't ascend the ladder fast enough to clamber into bed, pulling his quilt right over his head, blocking out all the light from the window above him.

He just laid there for what felt like hours. There was no differentiating between consciousness and unconsciousness. All of this was a dream, but all of it was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos! You are all my sustaining life force. This chapter was a little different, but I do hope you stick around. We'll be getting back to our 500-year-old amnesiac real soon.


	4. Chapter 4

It was raining, and Link felt timeless. He could see the Great Plateau Tower glowing on a fogged horizon and it was mocking him. There was no way it had only been days since waking up there, and now he was here, intoxicated by his own restlessness. The passage of linear time eluded him in the Korok woods. He’d slept there for too long and that’s all he knew. Waking up meant confronting reality, and going back to sleep meant putting off destiny.

_ Destiny. What a bitter thing. _

The Woodland Stable still existed at the bottom of the hill, in a way. While it no longer boarded horses--the innkeeper had given him a strange, sideways glance when he’d asked--it still had a place for him to sit, cook, and gather information.

Suddenly, he did not care what had happened to his kingdom. He did not ask what had led to this point. He intended only to find out what was to be done about it. Zelda would not guide him. The Deku Tree could not advise him. He had to formulate his own plan.

He was able to trade the cookware he’d been gifted at the settlement for a shield stronger than what the now-slain Koroks could produce. He traded a Korok Shield he’d scavenged for a meal. A pang of guilt nestled in his ribcage but it slowly melted as he ate. It’s all the emotion he had time for. 

No one here could tell him anything about the Gerudo king, and no one knew the whereabouts of his sword. 

The rain was bearable, even if it was freezing. It kept him grounded as he made off on foot. It would be days before he’d reach his destination, rain be damned. He didn’t need directions, though kind passers-by sharing the road would ask him if he needed any.

“I’m fine. I’m going to Kakariko Village,” he said every time.

And every time, the other traveler would automatically grimace, glance at his looted Sheikah weapons, and sincerely wish him luck. Link didn’t ask what they meant because he didn’t want to know.

The rain followed him through the Dueling Peaks, over the Kakariko Bridge, and up the hilly path that would take him to the hidden village. Link found it to be wildly overgrown to a point where he was watching his feet to avoid unearthed roots and fallen rocks. Having just walked away from the remnants of one genocide, he couldn’t fathom the possiblity of stumbling upon another. He focused on the roots.

Kakariko Village was empty. There were no signs of life here as he rounded the last cliff and gazed upon a village frozen in time. He closed his eyes for the duration of a single, deep breath, finding himself missing the background noise of a flock of disgruntled cuckoos.

He came down the path to the center of the village. It looked relatively the same as when he’d visited last. Now, ivy grew up the sides of homes; grass and wildflowers had taken root on any horizontal surface they could. Nearby, the waterfalls could still be heard but it couldn’t yield him any comfort.

The Goddess statue he once prayed at was gone. Perhaps the stone couldn’t survive the test of time.  _ Nothing should survive as long as I have _ , he decided.

Three small, ovular stones stood vertically in Her place, each similar in size. Link sat before them, greening water surrounding him on the little island. The stones had symbols carved into them. It was the ancient Sheikah language that he had never known. The Slate he’d carried with him last time could have translated for him. He actually touched his hip, automatically springing for it only to realize it wasn’t there. He sighed, sitting back just to stare at whatever a shrine this was.

In another life, he’d talked to the Goddess here and She’d given him strength.

Now, She did not answer. No one spoke to him or offered him guidance.

Minutes pushed on becoming hours and Link finally tore himself away. The ground was wet, muddy--he could feel it stick to the back of his trousers as he stood up. He couldn't care. 

A brief investigation of peering into windows show that there were no signs that anyone had died here. Kakariko Village looked simply… abandoned.

Link had taken care not to look at one home in particular until now. Impa’s home, a functioning temple for the Village, was now falling apart. The roof had partially collapsed into the porch, which looked to be in the same state of disarray. More than once, the wood of the stairs warped under the pressure as he climbed them.

He was overwhelmed with regret as he opened the door. After defeating Calamity Ganon, had he returned here? Had Zelda come by to celebrate their victory?

It had to have been years since this place was left to rot. The heavily cushioned chair where Impa once rested was… still there. It was partially molded, but there nonetheless.

He sat in front of it, as if she were still there to deliver him guidance. The wood, already wet, mixed with the mud on his pants and was just uncomfortable. Link barely noticed, so lost in his own thoughts.

He'd never been given time to properly grieve any of this. Not in any lifetime. He hadn't known how to do so. No one had ever told him that he could. Here, alone in Kakariko Village, a place that was once a hidden solace, Link felt an entire army of emotions sneaking up on him. And all he could do not to embrace it was to leave.

He passed by the cemetery on the edge. There were more markers here. This was to be expected. He could not read the graves, but surely one of these had to be for Impa. An old mentor and friend, memorialized only in an ordinary rock, blending right in with the rest of them.

Link didn’t realize the rain had stopped until it came down on him once again.

It had him thinking that Zora’s Domain could be a viable place for answers. If his luck were to change at all, surely someone there would recognize him, and surely a Zora scout could tell him where his sword had ended up.

As he ascended the hills to leave this place behind, the familiar shimmer of a Blupee caught his eye from just off the path. With a jolt of realization, he followed it, caring not about whether it noticed his approach. It wasn’t his objective. The Blupee vanished as he passed by.

The trees had only grown more dense over time, but the large blooming petals of the fountain were hard to miss.

It was closed off. Link had found her like this once before. It did not faze him as he approached with a confidence he couldn’t have fathomed prior to now. He walked up the stairs to the exterior of the flower bud. He only hesitated when he got to the top: how could he get her attention this time around? Was she still here?

Leaves were wrapped tightly around the base of the closed off structure. It felt right to reach out to them. Link swore he felt them twitch when he began to speak. “I don’t know if you’re here,” he said, almost mumbling, struggling to concoct a speech for her, "But if you are, I'd love to talk. It's Link. From, ah, from the Calamity's time. It's been a while. I don't really know how to explain..." he pulled his hand back. He felt no movement, no presence inside. He struggled to even remember her name, but finally, after a pause too long, he said, "Cotera, I need help."

Perhaps the name is what got her attention, for the leaves began to visibly shake, as if trying to remember how to live once more. They pried away from their petals, but only enough for Link to see the mirrored water through the cracks. It wasn't as bright or as serene as he remembered, but there was someone here, and that was a comfort.

"I... I don't have any money," he went on, assuming he'd piqued her interest. Last time, she had asked for some sort of a donation. His pockets were genuinely void of currency. The leaves, perhaps understanding this, cringed back together just a few inches more, leaving Link to backpedal. "But I don't have any armor for you to work on, either. I just need to talk. You'll understand, I think."

Public speaking was never, in any lifetime, any universe, his forte. He stayed quiet, silently hoping he wouldn’t have to say anything more.

And finally, he heard the faint echo of a sign as the leaves slowly unfurled all the way, the petals following suit. The fountain reflected his desolate image back at him, undisrupted in the standstill water. He stared at himself for a few seconds until she made her presence truly known.

She looked tired. Beyond tired, in fact; and Link could relate. Her skin, though already pale, had a grayish hue to it. There were bags under her eyes, like she hadn't slept--if fairies even slept. Her hair looked brittle and flat, contrary to any way he’d seen her before. Simply put, she looked sick. Despite this, she did appear happy to see him. She was smiling. Her makeup wasn't intact. Here, she looked almost human, getting old.

To be polite, he ignored the impulse to ask "what happened here?" and instead, sat down on the mushroom platform that led up to her pool. He figured that he would be here for a while. As selfish as it was, he  _ hoped  _ he’d be here for a while. 

"Look at you," she said, barely emerging from the water past her shoulders. "Handsome as ever."

Link knew this wasn't true. He’d just seen his sallow reflection, after all. He felt absent of himself. Regardless, he forced half a smile and said, "Thank you. How have you been?"

Drawing away from him, she said, “My personal affairs matter not. Look at our Hyrule, my boy.”

For some reason, Link looked around, like the damage was evident here. It wasn't, though: wildflowers and mushrooms seemed to be flourishing here under the new shelf of trees' shade. Beyond this, though, he knew that the land was ransacked.

Cotera was looking past Link as she spoke. “I haven’t seen visitors in so long. I haven’t seen Hyrule so desolate in…” she trailed off, but Link figured she wasn’t going to say four hundred years.

He asked what she knew, whatever she could remember. She started her story at the last visit he'd paid her, before he'd fought off the Calamity. He knew this much, seeing as he was there, but he didn't urge her to speed up her story. Cotera had always favored dramatics, but he was noting a very obvious lack of them now. She told him that Zelda had come by after he'd gone away. She depicted the Hylian Queen in a way that made Link irredeemably homesick.

Cotera, not stopping to let Link deal with whatever was surfacing, continued to tell him of a few straggling travelers stopping by after that. As guests dwindled, she stopped coming to the surface.

She looked to be on the verge of something awful when Link told her the Sheikah were gone. She didn’t know where they could be or what had happened. She could tell him, now, that Zelda had been a fine ruler. She told him the story of his own disappearance: that he’d lived at the castle during its reconstruction until one day deciding to return to Hateno.

And that was the end of his story. Link’s expression became defensively stoic. One day he just left and never returned.

She stopped talking. Comfortable silence turned sour before Link said, “Everything worked out without me though, right?”

Link couldn’t even look at her. He just stared at his own fists, unsure what he was supposed to say. Leaving with no notice didn’t sound like him, but he had little recollection of who he was anyway.

“Everything was fine, I assure you. You were missed. You were mourned.”

His fate didn’t matter--it wasn’t permanent. Regardless, he nodded.

“I haven’t a clue how you could have wound up back at that old Shrine,” Cotera pondered. “But I suppose it’s a good thing you did. My sister Mija told me what became of the Gerudo king. I know that his tribe denounced him, but… I guess that doesn’t matter at this point.”

No. It did not. “Cotera,” he mumbled, “Do you think I’m too late this time?”

"No, child," she said immediately, coming back to the edge of the water, tipping his chin up with just a finger. "You're right on time. Destiny never missteps. You are here, now, because you are supposed to be.”

For a long time, the two of them sat together in a strangely comfortable silence. Link continued to stare into the water, like it was the only place he could look right now as he grappled to get his thoughts together. This was a lot, to say the least.

Finally, he asked, “Do you have any idea where the Sheikah ended up? I was going to go to Zora’s Domain, but if I can find the Sheikah…”

Cotera shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t say for sure. If I had to take a guess, I’d say it was the work of a revived Yiga clan.”

Genuinely surprised, Link leaned back, supporting himself on his hands behind him. Everything had changed, but also, nothing had changed. He'd risked his life--in fact, he'd lost it once--to fight the Calamity, and he wasn't even able to put a stop to evil. It would always come back. Out loud, he mumbled, "I must be cursed to have to do this every damn time..."

Cotera smiled half-heartedly. She said, "If it helps, I don't think it's you specifically who was cursed."

He was too tired to decipher what she meant. "Thank you, Cotera," he said, sitting up, wiping dewy hands onto already dirtied pants. “I’m going up to see the Zora now. You’ve been a huge help. You always have.”

He couldn't distinguish pity in her smile, but maybe he projected it. She said, "Not every life," and before he could ask about _ that, _ she said, "Oh, child. Look at your clothes. And your  _ shoes.  _ Please,” and reached out to him, but he backed away. 

"I can't let you," Link said, "I don't have any money." 

She clicked her tongue. "I'm not worried about it. It would be an honor to assist the Hylian Champion once more." Before Link could even attempt to argue, she pulled him into the water by the front of his tattered tunic.

Submerged, he wasn't alarmed. This, of all things, was nostalgic but not tragic.

Unable to hold his breath while Cotera tailored his effects, Link let himself slip from consciousness, waking up back on the mushroom stairs. Like every time before, he was near dry, and much warmer. It was as if Cotera had pulled his old doublet through time and given it a fresh dye. He still couldn't tell if he admired the royal family's bright blue garb, but Cotera had made the color an exact match.

"Oh, look at you now," she said, clearly admiring her work. Link was certain she looked younger now, having gained some color back in her skin, her wrinkles gone. "I haven't worked that much in... decades, Link. Decades." She sighed. "I can't wait to tell my sisters about this! They'll be jealous. You should visit them when you get a chance."

He nodded. “One quest at a time,” he said. 

"I hope that you find the answers you seek," she said. “And you should know, if you’re going to the Zora, that there’s a bridge now over by the Promenade. It goes over the Rutala River. You should find it useful.” With that, she winked at him, bidding him farewell.

The rain no longer posed a threat. Whatever magic Cotera had infused into his clothes left him completely dry, and he even had a hood now. If not for the looming threat of an apocalypse, he’d have called it comfortable.

The addition of a path through the Lanayru Road felt like a very strange stroke of luck. It validated his decision to stop and talk to Cotera, but at the same time he felt vulnerable as he walked down a new trail of cobblestone by himself. Hyrule had changed and somehow he couldn’t grasp it.

Though this path was new to him, it still showed signs of wear. Link’s borrowed Eightfold Blade did not leave his grip. This had once been a popular site for Yiga ambushes, and Cotera’s assumption that they were alive and well had made him uneasy.

Link was fortunate to make it to the bridge without difficulty. If he remembered correctly, it would be a short hike from here to the path that would take him to the Zora. If he didn’t falter, he’d make it by nightfall.

That was his goal, and he intended to achieve it. The bridge did nothing to dissuade him. Link was certain that, at this point, nothing could dissuade him. Not his tired legs, or his  insatiable hunger. 

He’d rested too long, no matter how he’d justified it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I will never cut Link a break but thanks for asking :)


	5. Chapter 5

Though the path was familiar, the route Zora’s Domain wasn’t as rugged as it used to be. Link remembered coming here years ago at the vehement request of the Prince at the time. On that journey, every jagged curve of this ridiculous trail had him stumbling into a new danger at every opportunity.

Now, it felt almost welcoming. Lanterns appeared more often to light the way, and though he anticipated making it up before dusk, he found comfort in their presence. It was as if the canyons themselves had been built up and carved out again, starting over with what was once a treacherous landscape. Zora’s Domain was more welcoming now.

Despite the lack of a challenge, it was still unfamiliar to Link, and that sickly feeling of outgrowing the world hadn’t left him alone at all. If the editing of a simple trail could have him feeling this way, he was almost scared to find out what the Domain could have changed into.

He wouldn’t let himself think about it. Instead, he tried to pull old memories from here. Anything would suffice, but he was really trying to pull anything from post-Calamity. It was impossible, but he wouldn’t accept that.

Instead, he remembered clamoring into the bowels of Vah Ruta, becoming soaked to the bone in mere minutes, saving the soul of a loved one. 

He remembered how it felt to hear her voice. To see her face. It made his heart hurt--her spirit really was gone now. If he had been trying to think happy thoughts, this wasn’t it, but it was all he could muster. He hated that. He hated that no matter what he chose to do, he couldn’t have changed the past.

He was crossing a rope bridge over a shallow stream when it dawned on him that, even though he’d taken a shortcut through half of this trail, he hadn’t seen any of the grand stone monuments so far along the way. He remembered one, specifically, appearing just as worn out as he’d always felt, that told a story of his past that was barely himself.

For just one moment, he allowed himself a single selfish thought: had that stone been removed and replaced? The salvation of the kingdom was certainly more enthralling than the tale of a slayed Lynel.

And then, because all good things aren’t good at all: Would the Zora really want to memorialize the loss of their princess as a requirement for that salvation?

Link sighed and finished crossing the bridge. His legs were shaky, and he blamed it on the unsteady ropes he’d just stepped off of. Perhaps that wasn’t it.

A familiar hill greeted him with a new set of stone tablets, appearing as if summoned by his contemplation of what they’d become. These new ones were smaller, with abridged stories of the past, and Link did indulge himself in skimming over them to find any name he knew. It didn’t have to be his.

But it was his that he found, and he read it slowly, attempting to decipher everything it held all at once. Details were omitted for the sake of space, but the trials of Vah Ruta were here, immortalized until time would catch up and destroy this too.

The only thing that seemed to withstand the test of time was himself.

Here, Link scanned the horizon. Vah Ruta was no longer looking over the people. Squinting into the horizon, he spun around. From here, halfway up this mountain, he could see the vent of Death Mountain, but no trace of any Divine Beast there either.

What surprised him the most about this realization was that he was  _ not _ surprised.

It was more perplexing than alarming. Where could a piece of machinery so large have ended up? How could they have moved--were there new pilots? 

New Champions?

Link squeezed his eyes shut for half a minute before reading the last stone beside his. King Dorephan had passed on during Link’s rest. Link’s expression did not falter as he read on. Though second-born, the King’s son had flawlessly taken the throne. According to the tablet, King Sidon was having a peaceful rule.

He couldn’t help but scoff here, tilt his gaze toward Hyrule Castle.  _ Peaceful. _

A recognized, faintly-glowing bridge welcomed him to the heart of Zora’s Domain. It took a lot of restraint not to sprint down this corridor, the first of hopefully many nostalgic things he’d be seeing here. The guards silently watched him approach. He wanted so badly to run, like these extra few seconds were not worth losing. Link walked anyway, and took a lot of control he didn’t think he was going to be able to muster.

He was holding his breath when he slowly--too slowly, walked up to the two guards. They looked at each other quizzically as Link exhaled dramatically, attempting to cleanse his nerves.

“State your business,” one guard said in a heaving exhale. She didn’t really sound like she was taking her post too seriously.

“I need to see the King,” he said, all in one syllable. The guards looked at each other once more with looks of equal disgust.

“Don’t waste our time. There is no King here,” said the other guard. He stood up straighter as he spoke. Link didn’t notice it to read into it. His trident scraped against the floor when he continued, “But if it’s the queen you wish an audience with, I will show you to her.”

There was no need to ask questions here and now. Link followed one of the guards up the stairs, the sounds of waterfalls deafening any gossip happening around him. He was humbled to see that the statue of Mipha had remained. He smiled at it--at her--and felt both comfort and unease at the same time. He hoped that she would be proud of him, were she here:  _ someone  _ had to be proud, after all.

Zora’s Domain truly looked to be frozen in time, contradicting the renovated path that brought him here. Link didn’t need an escort to the throne. He knew exactly which staircases would take him there the fastest, and yet he was taking his time at this guard’s pace to take everything in, just to take in the comfort of recognition.

“Link.” It caught him beside himself. He swore he hadn’t mentioned his name. This wasn’t a voice he had ever heard before. Instantly, he turned to whoever had spoken, and furrowed his eyebrows.

Based on her appearance, and the fact that she was the only one here not armed, Link could assume who she was. She wasn’t sitting in the monumentally large throne. She was sitting at its base, cross-legged, like he’d interrupted a meditation session.

She looked so much like the memorial below, down to the jewelry adorned around her neck and upon her head--a crown, as the Zora would interpret it. She looked young--certainly no older than Mipha had been when he’d last seen her.

He couldn’t stop himself. Link stepped away from the guard’s side and approached with no warning. It felt as if he were walking through a mass of cotton just to get to her. The room was too big.

Though she did not invite him to approach, she did not move. He sat down across the pool where she sat, somewhere beyond arm’s reach, and tried to keep his confusion to himself.

“You must be so tired,” she said, her voice soft and compassionate. Link didn’t respond. He didn’t understand the statement. “My name is Rulota,” she said, nodding at him in a peaceful greeting. He thoughtlessly returned the gesture.

A guard approached from somewhere behind Link. She raised a hand, palm towards the guard, silently dismissing him and anyone else here. Though Link didn’t turn around to confirm, he knew they were alone after all of the footsteps retreated.

“It’s a genuine honor to meet you,” she said. “You were well acquainted with my father, I’m sure.”

Link pursed his lips. She’d said three whole sentences by now and none of them were telling him what had happened.

The Queen--Rulota--did pause to give Link a chance to say something. Characteristically, he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. Instead, he stared at her. At this distance, he could pick out the features that made her royalty.

She smiled. “My father was certain you’d return. We all were. And now, here you are.” Another pause. Her posture fell gradually until she looked to be on the brink of tears. “I’m not good at this--being in charge. Being whatever it is I’m supposed to be. I’m sorry.”

Link didn’t mind the way she seemed to relax so suddenly. He didn’t even mention it. He asked, “What happened?” and his voice managed to give out before the syllables could escape. He sounded like he was sick. Perhaps he was.

Rulota looked around the throne room, as if the answers would be written somewhere for her to simply recite. She leaned back against the wall that was her throne and said, “My advisors won’t talk about it. I’m sure you mean to ask what happened to my dad. I don’t know. I don’t know. They told me he’d gone to fight a horde of Lynels by himself but… we both know he was stronger than that. He wouldn’t have… I want to know the truth, too.” 

All the guards were gone and her demeanor changed from collect ruler to just a step above a timid child. Link almost wanted to pity her but he genuinely couldn’t spare any emotions.

Hollow promises were the only things he could promise right now. He promised that he would find out.

She nodded. “And also, if I may ask: what happened to  _ you? _ ” she said suddenly, as if just realizing who exactly it was she was talking to.

Link shrugged. “You probably know more than me.”

It was strange to be sitting here so casually. He, the former Hylian Champion, and she, the novel Zora Queen, sitting alone in the vast throne room as complete strangers, but still somehow on the same page through overlapping histories.

“Oh yeah. I forgot that the shrine affects memories. I--” she hesitated, like she wasn’t supposed to be saying this, keeping her voice low, “--I can try to help you. If you trust me to try, I can… The magic I’ve learned is just a shadow of what my aunt could do, I never met her, you know, but… I can try to help with your memories. If you trust me,” she said again.

Genuinely unsure of what she was suggesting, Link didn’t answer right away. He stared intently only at the turquoise water sitting between them. It wasn’t a deep pool--he could simply stand up and walk through it to be by her side. The levels of apprehension he’d picked up in her timid voice had him feeling that way, too, but it was unlikely it was for the same reason.

The pause was beginning to grow uncomfortable. Like she was backpedaling, Rulota said, “Okay. Let’s just talk for a bit. You don’t remember anything?”

Not looking up from the water, Link said, “Not really. I remember… The Calamity’s collapse. And after, I remember pieces of taking the Master Sword back to its home.” But that didn’t matter, anyway. The Sword was long gone.

“It’s strange that you don’t remember the entire year after that,” she mused. “You were helping with the repairs at the castle. That is, until--well, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Right, right. Well, this was well before my time, I’m probably not the one to ask, and besides, it’s not a good story.” 

She was stalling. Link had been waiting a long time for whatever story she was here withholding. Yet, for some reason, he wasn’t upset or impatient. She looked as nervous as he had been feeling for weeks now.

He wasn’t going to beg her for details. The only thing he was going to ask for was a place to sleep, and that wasn’t going to be applicable for hours. For now, he could sit here and wait for her to decide to tell him the story of his own past.

“You’ve always been spoken of highly. I’m sure you always will be.” She took a deep breath, perhaps a sigh of relief, like saying that was something of a formality that she needed to get out of the way. “It was only a little over a year after. The castle was still being rebuilt, but you left for Hateno by yourself. No one realized anything had happened for a while, I think, but it had been a few weeks until a scout went through and confirmed that you weren’t there.

“A rumor had spread that you’d just run away. I think it was easier for a lot of people to accept that. For another year, you had simply vanished. Until… Are you sure you don’t remember?”

She was pitying him now. He didn’t need to look at her to know that. Link shook his head once, not checking if she’d even seen the gesture.

“Um… We still don’t know where you had been. The Zora had not given up, nor did the Sheikah or the Hylian Queen. Zelda. Zelda never quit searching, until…” she stopped, and Link swore it sounded like she was beginning to choke. Maybe he was, too, but for a different reason: he had no emotional attachment to this story, despite knowing it was specifically about him. It didn't feel real. None of this was real.

“I’m going to omit the details, because I can’t say… We don’t know where you were or why you left, but it was obvious that your death was no accident. We didn’t know the Sheikah had taken you back to the Shrine of Resurrection. No one did. They didn’t tell anyone until they told…” she took a deep breath, and Link finally looked up to see that she was, in fact, beginning to break down. “They told my father, all this time later, and he was  _ gone  _ within the week.”

This was all too suspicious to be coincidental. “How long ago was that, Rulota?” Somehow, despite all of this, his voice was calm

“Eleven months ago.”

_ Eleven months out of four hundred years is nothing.  _

She continued: “They were leaving their village but wouldn’t tell us why. They only said that you were going to be back soon and that they had to abandon Kakariko. I remember how happy my father was to hear that news, but then… Yeah. You heard about the, uh, about what happened at the castle, I presume?”

“Yes, I did. I’m going to do something about it.”

“That’s what the Sheikah said when they came through. I think you should find them. They went north. Scouts have informed us that their new settlement is not far from here.”

The conversation closed when a guard reentered the room. “Pardon the intrusion. I was just checking to make sure everything was okay.”

Rulota made a face that said,  _ why wouldn’t things be okay?  _ But quickly erased it. She said, “Yes, we’re fine. Would it be possible to get a fresh meal and a place for Link to rest?”

Link had not asked for such accommodations but wouldn’t say no to either of them. The guard hesitated but agreed and scurried off once more.

Rutela said, “I’m sure that there are some elders here who would love to speak to you, if you’d like. After you eat, we’ll reconvene and work on your memory, if you want.”

Link thought about it for half a second. He stood up, and so did she, ready to walk with him to wherever he was going next. Link said, “I’d appreciate anything you can do,” and the two of them descended the stairs. Despite everything, this felt normal. The comfort of being surrounded by people who weren’t skeptical of him or hostile of his intentions had him relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt since…

Unfortunately, that relaxation dissolved after he’d eaten, and was now in a small, dimly-lit room with Rulota. A single window let moonlight flood in, and a few glowing stones kept the walls alive.

They were alone here. Surely there were guards posted outside, but they felt so far away from Link and Rulota. The room was cold and Link was fighting against shivering. Rulota didn’t notice, or if she did she wasn’t going to do anything about it.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Link was sitting on a cushion on the floor opposite her. He nodded.

The young Queen took a deep breath and raised her hands between them. She hesitated long enough for only a second of silent prayer between them before opening the floodgate of a memory.

Link felt like he couldn’t breathe. Maybe his lungs had stopped working, and the oxygen was taking away his senses. His sight was the last thing to vanish.

He collapsed against the wall behind him, and the past was over. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter six, thank you for coming this far! I knew this fic was going to be long, but I can't believe it's at 20,000 words now. This chapter introduces the rest of the main original characters I created for this story, if I recall correctly. I'm not looking at my outlines so I can't be for certain at the moment. It's all coming together now tho!! Enjoy! B)

The Child was breathless as he stood over a pile of fresh Bokoblin corpses. Breathless, not because of the effort he’d put in to take their lives, but for the immediate disgust he felt as their blood spilled around his feet. After weeks, maybe months of practicing, this was the first battle he’d fought completely alone.

His arms hurt. His shoulders hurt. Even memories of helping his mother carry pumpkins around all day couldn’t compare to this. The sword they’d given him was too heavy. Everything felt too heavy.

They said it was because he was so young, and that he’d grow into it. The Child just stared blankly. He did not complain. He would never complain.

He’d learned that they were called Sheikah. He had, of course, heard of them before, in history books and stories, but they never left their hometown anymore. Their Village was concealed in the forested mountains so well that no one--no one from Hateno Town, at least--had seen them in decades.

Until they had come to Hateno, looking for him. The Child was worth the departure, it seemed. The Sheikah took him back to Kakariko Village, and he’d stayed in its desolate remains for two nights before moving on, so far from home. They’d left in a group of thirty people--all that was left in the Village.

Too far from home. He was sick with loneliness. He’d missed his birthday. He didn’t even know what day it was to have celebrated it by himself. But it was too cold now; surely the date had passed.

No matter how tired or lonely he got, the Sheikah pushed him on and on, and every night the Child found himself collapsing into a pitiful bed, sleeping instantly but so, so poorly.

Here, now, the smell of the blood was making him sick. He was practically dragging his sword as he turned away. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t wipe the image from his memory. Every death he’d caused, no matter how monstrous the creature was, would haunt him in the future, but for now, he wanted to be as far away from this as possible. He couldn’t be alone, and he was sure he’d never be alone for the rest of his life.

He wanted to go home but everyone he was travelling with was insistent that he was the chosen one, and that he was going to bring peace to the world. How could he do that, if his own life had been nothing but peaceful until they’d ripped him from it?

The Sheikah had promised him and his family that he’d be safe with them. The Child’s parents seemed content with their word. They’d sent him off with a chipper goodbye and that had been the discussion of his departure. And look at him now: perfectly safe, soaked in blood that wasn’t his.

Once he was far enough away that he couldn’t immediately smell the gore he’d spilled, he sat on a flat rock near a shelter of trees, haphazardly discaring his sword into the dirt below. From there, he stared into the sky.

Someone approached. “Hey,” they said, but the Child did not look away from the overcast ceiling above. It wasn’t necessarily captivating, but the effort of moving an already sore neck was not worth the payoff.

“I have this for you to clean off with,” said the stranger. His voice was steady, but still light. “And for your sword, too.” He dropped a damp cloth into the Child’s lap. 

He took a careful few seconds to continue staring straight up, until the brightness of it all began to hurt his eyes. Then, he picked up the cloth and acknowledged the stranger.

He was older, but it didn’t look like it was by much. The Child only saw youth in his eyes. Everywhere else, he looked like all the other Sheikah: dark skin, light hair, painted face. For some unfathomable reason, the Child wanted to trust this boy’s eyes. The Child nodded a thank-you, and the stranger took it as an invitation to join him in sitting on the rock.

He cleaned off his face, first, and found that the cloth wasn’t too dirtied yet. Next, his hands, which were blistered and dry even before this battle. Even the supposedly soft handle of the sword he was using was beginning to hurt. Just like everything else.

Then, finally, he picked up that weapon, wrapped the cloth around it and tried to clean it off too, but the blood was too much and it couldn’t all be wiped off at once. He didn’t even want to look at it anymore. 

The kid beside him must have noticed his rising disgust, for he took the sword from him without a word. “Don’t worry,” the stranger said after a long pause, like he’d just realized what he’d done without thinking. The Child just stared at him in response.

He ended up telling the Child to go ahead and return to the main camp and that he’d catch up later. It wasn’t until after the Child had washed his clothes out in the river (with inevitable hesitancy) and picked at a meal did the stranger return. No one greeted him as he approached camp, much like they’d ignored the Child, too.

Like he was somehow an expert in cleaning blood out of old weapons, the Child’s sword was returned in a better state than it was in this morning, before they’d been ambushed. 

Again, the stranger didn’t wait for an invitation before sitting down. Perhaps he knew that he was not going to get one.

“I’m Shidante, by the way.” After a beat, he said, “I know who you are. I’m sorry this happened, you know? We’re all out here trying to make the best of a poor situation. I don’t know if anyone’s said this, but we’re really glad to have you here.”

The boy identified as Shidante stayed only long enough to scarf down a meal. He didn’t say anything else, and the Child was unexpectedly comfortable in the silence. As soon as Shidante had eaten, the Child was left alone with a clean sword and a bland bowl of bone soup. It was fresh, steaming even, but as he sat on a cold ground on a cold day, it couldn’t warm him up.

It did not help that the sun was starting to go down. The soup was cold by the time he finished, still sitting by himself. Some of the Sheikah had started a large bonfire nearby. When the loud,  _ almost  _ cheery conversations began to subside, he slunk over and located Shidante and sat there instead.

An older man, who he assumed to be Shidante’s father or older brother, was telling jokes to the small group gathered here. Admittedly, he even chuckled here and there. In the scheme of things, he felt a shred of normalcy. He wanted to cling to it.

Though this was not a great memory to retain, a weak, weird, almost-friendship was better than any other memories he’d compiled since he’d been taken from his home.

He found it strange that no one else attempted to speak to him. He felt invisible among the Sheikah as they continued to travel north. He didn’t know exactly that they were headed north, but he’d overheard some of the older men talking about the journey ahead.

They were heading to some ruins he’d never heard of to meet with the rest of the Sheikah. No one told him anything directly, but he was good at learning things by sneaking around their already tiny camp. He honestly found it strange: they all talked like he was so important but they were also keen to give him space.

Not that he minded, honestly--it allowed him to overhear that soon, the group was going to be able to truly rest somewhere safe. Maybe it meant no more training. The Child hoped it meant no more training, at least.

He didn’t even know why he was training. No one told him things. He felt like a conscious weapon to the Sheikah. He couldn’t connect the thought to anything. He assumed that if he trained enough, they’d take him back home.

It was raining, like most days had been as of late. There was no tangible way for him to know how many days it had rained, but he was running out of dry clothes to start the days in.

He had no time to sit with Shidante anymore. When he wasn’t sleeping uncomfortably on a thin bedroll, he was learning to fight with the Sheikah, or eating some bland meat on dense bread.

Every time he drew blood, intentionally or not, he thought back to that wooden sword he’d sharpened just a little too much. It was upsetting to long for that time again. He could barely recall the distress he’d felt. 

He remembered the warmth of the grass that day. The blood that spilled from his own wounds was equally warm. 

There wasn’t, and hadn’t been nightly fires due to the downpour that seemed to be following them. Because of this, the Child and Shidante had taken to their hangouts in one of their tents. Shidante would try to tell the same jokes that he’d laughed at before, but couldn’t land the punchlines correctly. The Child appreciated the effort regardless.

Tonight, they were attempting to re-lace their drenched boots. They discovered a strange competitiveness between them, and they had taken to racing to see who could tie their boots back up the quickest. When it wasn’t boot-lacing, it was something else: finding the most wild fruit for dinner, collecting the most water for the older Sheikah. The Child barely registered these chores as anything but a competition.

He nudged Shidante’s arm with his own to let his friend know that he’d lost the lace contest. Shidante groaned at his loss, but it dissolved into laughter as he passed his shoes to the Child for him to lace, too.

Though the rain was letting up, it still muffled the noise outside the tent. The Child hadn’t been able to eavesdrop lately, but now the men seemed close enough for the words to be understood if he tried hard enough.

He heard his name, somehow, and scooted closer to the entrance as if that would let him hear better.

“Ugh, the adults are talking again,” Shidante groaned. His complaint was ignored.

“He’s not ready,” said one man.

“If we wait until he’s ready, the entire countryside will be laid to waste. We need to go,” said another.

Shidante seemed to be listening too, because it was his turn to nudge the Child’s arm. “Don’t listen to them,” he said, “I think you’re doing great.” He paused, but didn’t get any form of acknowledgement. “Hey, are you listening?”

One of the men outside said, “I’m going to tell him right now.”

“You need to reconsider.”

When the tent flap began to move, the Child jumped back like it had just injured him. He scooted back into Shidante, who had gone back to lacing up his own boots. The man who entered was one of the men who had come to his house to meet him. He couldn’t remember his name, but he definitely remembered the man for his features: his narrow face, wild eyebrows, his solemn eyes.

“Can we talk for a second?” he asked, clambering inside despite the fact that there was not room here for three, even if two of them were children. Or, maybe he did realize; his first order of business was asking Shidante for privacy.

“I won’t leave unless Link says so.”

And when he didn’t say anything, the man said, “Very well. To be blunt: tomorrow, you, Rutan, and I will depart from this group. You remember Rutan, I hope? He’s got the scar, yeah? We have some business to take care of. It’s very important, and also very  _ secret.”  _ He glared at Shidante as he finished the sentence.

Noting this, the Child scooted closer to his friend. Whatever the importance or secrecy of this, Shidante could be a part of it, too.

The soldier sighed. “Would you be more apt to attend if he attended as well?”

He received a nod.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?”

Shidante answered on his behalf, much like Arielle would have done were she here. “You can’t blame him, though. I wouldn’t want to talk to the people who took him away from his home and family.”

The soldier glared at him. "That's enough from you. You're coming with us, then. We will leave before sunrise, so we expect you to get some rest soon. Very soon."

The soldier exited the tent. Shidante scoffed as soon as he was gone, the tent flaps returned to their closed position. The rain, picking up once more, likely drowned it out. "Sorry about him. Jorra's really... headstrong. I don't think he sees you as a kid."

The Child nodded in agreement. They didn't talk any more for the rest of the night. With freshly laced boots at their bedsides, they slept. The Child did not dream.


	7. Chapter 7

Once he remembered, he couldn’t believe that he’d ever forgotten.

The stones had just been laid into this hallway. Each one was done by hand and the corridor was still technically blocked off as the mortar continued to dry. Link walked through anyway, partially because he didn’t realize, but also because no one was going to say anything to reprimand him. His footsteps echoed through the high, cracking ceilings, but it wasn’t a satisfying noise. It made him feel empty, too.

The parts of the castle that were put back together were being used to their fullest extent, as if to make up for a hundred years of lost time. Guest rooms were thrown together for any volunteers who were able to come help with the reconstruction. 

Link’s room was among them, but he didn’t spend much time in it. Now, just like every day where he had free time (which technically, was all of them), he could be found absently exploring the parts of the castle that still harbored old chaos. It was the only way he could think.

Up until the day it happened, he’d thought that as soon as they were reunited he would become inseparable from Zelda. They were, after all, the only ones who had seen the story from beginning to end, and at the time it made sense. 

But with no one else to take charge, Zelda had become overwhelmed by newfound responsibility. In the two months since he’d collapsed in Hyrule Field, finally relinquished of obligation, Zelda had picked up working where he left off. Currently, the castle was hosting the leaders from villages all around the kingdom, and Link was there because he was a mutual friend of, well, seemingly everyone. He was there physically but he felt so far away from it all, and especially Zelda.

In a way, he’d felt guilty about all of this. Not guilty for his past failures manifesting as present issues, but for the way he’d taken this time to just breathe. Every time she asked him to do something with her, for moral support if nothing else, he’d dutifully agree. He was a bridge between the new Queen of Hyrule and all her people. He did everything he could to keep her afloat, but it was a hero, as the last divine Champion. Not as himself.

It took up all of his thoughts recently. He wasn’t meant to exist as himself. He was an instrument for keeping peace. Reluctantly he'd admit that he didn’t even know who he was. The weight of the world was melting from his shoulders and he didn’t know who would be underneath.

Expertly, he navigated the disintegrating parts of the castle. Though the collection and disposal of rubble was changing the layout, Link still knew where to go where he was unlikely to be found. 

He wasn’t hiding, per se: his schedule for the rest of the day was empty. He’d just emerged from some meeting that he hadn’t been paying attention to. Riju had just made it to the castle the night prior, and it seemed that the Gerudo chief was having no problems making friends with Zelda. Link didn’t have to be there. 

He didn’t have to be anywhere.

This particular forlorn staircase would lead him down into the basement, where he would certainly find relics of the castle’s previous ascendancy. It wasn’t his direct intention, but he wanted to be the first to scavenge the old guard’s cache. 

The wooden plank of a stair cracking beneath him snapped him out of his thoughts. He gasped, stumbling to regain his balance. At the same time, he heard movement behind him, above him.

Someone else was on the stairs. Certainly it couldn’t have been anyone malicious as all the monsters had vanished, but Link suddenly realized how defenseless he was here. Perhaps it was old paranoia, but he resumed his descent with more purpose.

The bottom of the stairs found him and he was overwhelmed with the musty smell of old air. It wasn’t a huge exertion, but he was panting as he took off down a hallway, only stopping when someone familiar called out his name, sounding clearly exasperated.

“Zelda,” he said, unsure if it was loud enough for her to hear. 

“Honestly,” she said, catching up to him as he stood there sheepishly, “It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

“We were  _ just  _ meeting with Riju together,” Link said, a meek defense. He didn’t deny that maybe he was avoiding something, but it certainly wasn’t her.

“I want to talk to you,” she said. Then, as if just realizing where she was, in a narrow stone corridor with molding rugs beneath her, she said, “Where are we? This is… the guard’s chamber? It certainly could be, but I can’t be sure without all that gaudy décor.”

Link smiled, and he hoped it came across as genuine. “Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better, actually.” All he knew of the castle came after Ganon’s wrath.

“Right. The memory thing. I’m sorry.” It was strange--in what few memories Link had scraped together, they’d never been this casual together. Link’s smile disappeared.

As much as he wanted to continue exploring down the corridor, Zelda didn’t deserve whatever danger may be lurking below. She didn’t object when he led her back up the horrible, decaying stairs.

She was doing a poor job of disguising how out of breath she’d become by the time she’d arrived at the top. Link felt fine, still leading the way back to the safe parts of the castle. It wasn’t until they’d made it to an empty, functioning kitchen did Zelda resume whatever conversation she’d sought him out to have.

All she asked was, “How are you doing?”

And really, it wasn’t what Link had expected. 

There was a lot to consider, in the scheme of things. He could have been aloof, answering that he was doing great, that he’d woken up this morning to birds in his window and good fortune all around him. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. It wasn’t what she was prying from him. Perhaps she’d grown comfortable in his extended silences, for she didn’t prod him to answer as he started a fire beneath one of the new pans.

Though the majority of his memories were lost, likely forever, he still felt strangely… safe in her presence. To anyone else, he was perfectly stoic, but Zelda saw through it. She didn’t have to ask him to see how troubled he’d been. 

So he could skip all of that. There wasn’t a fear of saying something wrong, because this conversation was not public, but he was still never good at getting the right words out. It was easier to defer to someone else. He’d always let Zelda speak for him in the past. She was too patient with him. He’d already taken too long to respond; he was pulling meat from an icebox instead of answering a simple question.

He spoke slowly, like he was unsure. “I want to be a good person, all the time.” It didn’t answer the question and Link reeled to elaborate. “I’m supposed to be done, but nothing is finished.” That didn’t make any sense. Link focused on slicing even strips of steak instead.

“I understand,” she said. Silence shoehorned its way past comfortable. Link immersed himself in scouring what few cabinets were intact here to find anything worth cooking with. When he turned around to put the meat on the pan, Zelda was sitting comfortably on the counter beside it. He had to look at her, and she was staring back into him. Her face was uncanny.

The memory ended like a book closed suddenly in his face.

Another memory flipped through, like a poorly-sewn dream. He was outside, sweating in the midday sun, carrying a pallet of bricks alongside Bolson. Bolson, who had come all the way from Hateno Village, was adamant about overseeing this project. He had no experience with castle repair, of course, but there wasn’t a soul alive now who did.

Today, Link had skipped all the meetings he’d promised Zelda he’d attend. It was all getting to him in a way he was unable to comprehend, let alone describe. Building walls where the garden would be was all the productivity he could muster.

Bolson didn't mind an extra pair of strong hands but he made it clear that he knew Link was avoiding other, more pressing responsibility. He’d mentioned it, and Link characteristically said nothing. It didn’t matter enough to defend himself. He couldn’t change the past. He didn't need to. 

“Zelda told me that you’ve been acting differently,” Bolson admitted as they coordinated the bricks to the ground. Link didn’t even know that Zelda and Bolson knew each other personally.

But, differently than when? A week ago, or a century?

They were walking back to the castle gate to get more when Link finally said something. “I don’t think I’m useful here.”

“Of course you are, kid!” said Bolson, as if Link were, in fact, a kid. Sure, he had something to do now, but it isn’t what he was planning on doing for the rest of his days. Job certainty was for Bolson or Zelda. They’d always have something to do.

The same couldn’t be said for Link. Zelda had said she understood, but she had a kingdom to lead. All Link was to do was clear her a path and relinquish the reins. The Goddess didn't grant him a destiny past this. 

Link and Bolson painstakingly transferred all the necessary materials to the other side of the castle to begin framing some short walls. They both knew that wood would have sufficed for the job, but brown brick would look nicer. At no one’s immediate request, they started their little mission.

Link would not be there to finish it. After a few days of nothing but pointless meetings and manual labor, Bolson sat down with Link at dinner one night and said, “Kid, I think you need to get out of here.”

“Huh?” Link was caught in the middle of shoveling a rice ball into his mouth. “Out of the… dining hall?”

“No, silly. The castle. You need to go live your life, and it’s not here.”

If Link had responded, he didn't hear it. That memory, too, ended abruptly.

A bout of darkness passed though until another one unfolded, as if hesitating. The library, like everything else, was in the process of being restored. Even in its partial collapse, Link had been in awe over how many secret rooms were contained here. Zelda didn’t know any of them existed.

Perhaps as if she didn’t believe him, Link was tearing a bookshelf away from a wall. He hadn’t anticipated doing this, and neither of them had the Sheikah Slate with them to magic it out, so he had to do this the hard way.

“This one doesn’t really go anywhere, “ he said as he finally created an opening to squeeze through. He went first, lighting sparse torches down the narrow walls as he went.

“This is fascinating,” Zelda said when they reached the end of the passage. A small collection of mushrooms had started springing up from the cracks in the floor. Link collected them without thinking, as if scavenging was still his primary lifestyle.

Zelda noticed this. She didn’t say anything, but Link clearly saw her expression change as he stood up and offered her one. She obviously declined the offer and Link shrugged.

There was a sort of safety here, where no one was going to come look for them to discuss business or construction woes. While Link was contentedly snacking on his ironshrooms, Zelda said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago. About being finished. I really do get it. The longer I stand among the new leaders, the more I feel it. It feels as if I’m--we’re--not supposed to be here.”

Link swallowed heavily. “It’s like we’re out of time,” he conferred.

The memory faded away this time, instead of being yanked from his sight. He sat up in Zora’s Domain, four hundred years out of time.


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone was on edge this morning, but no one talked about it. It was plainly obvious to the Child that his nerves were not for the same reason. The four of them were seemingly on an intent mission, and he still had no details about what was going on. He couldn’t understand why he had to be here if this was as top secret as they’d promised.

Even Shidante was tense by his side. Earlier, they’d been woken up before sunrise to have a meager, silent breakfast of sliced fruit and stale bread. The giveaway of how solemn this trip was going to be had revealed itself when Shidante said nothing to him. The men from last night must have talked to him, because something had changed. 

They stayed close together on old dirt paths. A cloak of gentle fog surrounded them, and it had him thinking of home. This would have been the perfect weather for a delivery day.

If they continued to travel like this, there would be no way for him to have a private conversation with Shidante. He kept looking over at his friend, shooting him quick, questioning glances until finally he took notice. “Don’t worry,” he said, but his grim expression didn’t match his uplifting tone.

It was an obvious lie that went unacknowledged. The Child arched an eyebrow up at Shidante, and bitterly wondered how intimidating he could possibly look right now. Regardless, he kept it up until it was completely ensured that he was making this face for nothing. It took a minute.

Shidante said, “I promise,” but didn’t specify just what it was that was being promised. “Just… stay alert, okay?”

It was not reassuring that he’d said that, and a few miles later they approached a vast river of purple mud. It spanned endlessly in one direction, out into the horizon, and in the other was lost into the forest beyond.

On the other side of this strange channel was a tower, exactly as blue and forlorn as the one back home. The Child looked at his group, realizing he was the only one reacting to its immense presence. 

Jorra, seemingly the one in charge, withdrew a small map from his bag. It was drawn by hand and written in a boxy language the Child had never seen before. Despite how cryptic it looked, Jorra didn’t need more than a second’s long glance before looking at the sky and subsequently turning to his group.

“Looks like we’re ahead of schedule,” he said, looking up again as if to confirm. The Child, too, looked up at the overcast sky. Jorra said, “Not even high noon yet,” as if that was written in the clouds.

Rutan said, “Let’s stop and get a quick lunch in, then,” and the plan was instantly decided between the adults. The grass was still wet from the morning’s fog but it was the least of anyone’s concern. 

On the other side of the river was a forest that looked too dark to exist in the sunlight. He’d read about what this must be, an ancient, impossible forest called the Lost Woods, but he had never seen them for himself. The Child stared into its barren darkness while he ate a dry biscuit dipped in honey. The other three were talking, but he retained none of it. Something was wrong with this forest, and he was undoubtedly going to be going inside. Maybe he was imagining it, but something faint was calling him in.

“It is extremely important that you don’t step in any mud,” Jorra said when they had finished eating. The Child’s attention had come back into focus on his group. He was listening, and paying attention, and taking care to ensure that he didn’t misstep and fall, even on solid ground.

“We’re going to have to cross this,” said Rutan.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Shidante asked, seemingly reading the mind of the youngest companion. 

“Hmm. It might take some time, but we could walk down that way and see if it narrows at any point,” suggested Rutan, pointing off into the light of the endless horizon. “It certainly can’t be so deep all the way around.”

“It’s a bottomless bog,” Jorra informed everyone. “It’s going to be dangerous no matter where we decide our entry point.”

“What if we try that direction?” Shidante asked, gesturing to the forested end of the muddy river. “Maybe there will be a fallen tree we can make into a bridge.”

He still felt the sun on the back of his neck as he followed the others down the bank. He was surprised that it didn’t take long for them to come across a tiny, raised island in the middle of the bog. The adults were able to cross it with strenuous leaps, leaving the Child and Shidante apprehensive on the other side.

In the gap, spanning maybe fifteen feet between them, Jorra said, “We’ll look for some sort of way to bridge this over here. You guys keep looking, too.”

Now out of sight, searching for something small enough to carry but large enough to get them across, the Child nudged Shidante’s arm, obviously seeking answers.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Shidante said, “but I don’t have a good feeling about any of this. They swear that there’s no immediate danger, but I feel like they’re hiding something. Oh, hey--we could probably lay this log over and walk across, can you grab that end?” 

The conversation was dropped and the two groups reunited. Rutan and Jorra had found a small length of rope, noting that centuries ago this area existed as a training ground for the military. The Child didn’t know if he could trust an old rope like that were he to lose footing, so he nervously made sure his log was as secure as possible as he aligned it with the exposed bit of land poking up. 

There were no immediate difficulties on the first cross, but on the second he lost his balance for just a second and nearly lost a boot to the mud. It felt like it absolutely could have pulled him in completely by the foot, and even though he was safely across, his foot felt heavy with mud already drying to it. 

The trees opened to a narrow path, as if inviting them into the pitch black woods inside. They followed the path and someone made a “I hope no one’s afraid of the dark” joke but no one responded. In fact, all conversation seemed to cease as the trees blocked out more and more of the sun. Soon, it was nearly pitch dark, and the Child hesitated, wanting to explore just how the trees could do this, but he couldn’t bear becoming separated. Looking up, it was hard to tell if these trees had any leaves. It looked to be a ceiling of all smoke and fog.

Right before it felt like the dark was going to completely overwhelm them, a partially collapsed stone arch seemed to be directing them to a torch left discarded on the forest floor. 

One of the adults struck it to life with a piece of flint from his pocket, and suddenly wild light personified the trees. If he felt any less safe he’d swear they had maniacal grins frozen in their bark. Of course, he avoided looking at them but couldn’t shake the feeling that they were there.

Their journey deeper into this strange forest felt random. There were no natural paths in the ground, and it felt like they were going in circles. All the trees, stumps, and scattered rocks looked too similar to tell without a closer inspection, which he had no intentions of doing. 

“Does anyone get the feeling we’re getting lost?” Shidante asked, exasperated.

Though the Child said nothing, his feet were beginning to hurt and he hoped the others would agree, giving them a moment to stop and recalibrate.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. They were told, “no, we’re almost there,” and were encouraged to keep going. A few more silent, haunting minutes passed before Jorra put out the torch without any explanation. 

It was then did the Child notice that the pitch black shadow of trees was giving way to a faint, yellowed light in the distance. Never before had he considered a light to be so friendly, but it was the only way to describe it. 

The grass was taller where the trees began to space out. They began to appear less grotesque and dead. Cliffs rose on both sides of them as they went, creating a sure path for the first time. It was hard to determine why, but it came as a comfort. Perhaps it was the light that was growing as strength as they ventured on. Large, hollowed logs served as high tunnels half-submerged into the ground. The Child wasn’t sure he had ever seen a tree large enough to have a stump this large. He kept his awe to himself.

Finally, the cliffs separated in either direction and their grassy path gave way to a cove full of trees of smooth bark, overgrown flora, and beams of light shining in that looked unlike anything the Child could ever imagine. 

It looked safe, and now that he was here he could not imagine having to leave through whatever wickedness had brought him here. 

Everyone had slowed to just take in just how unreal this place felt. How could so much light have been hidden back in the dark? The Child found himself drawn to a brief movement in a bush somewhere to his left. It was reminiscent of a rabbit taking a quick cover, and the Child, ever curious, began to approach. 

His quest to determine what kind of wildlife could possibly live here was stopped short by Rutan gripping him by the shoulder, pulling him back. “We aren’t here to get distracted now,” he said, his voice low. 

If the Child had thought the hollowed-out logs were massive, then there was no way to describe the tree that stood over him now. Overtaking everything in sight, its branches solely created the ceiling overhead, only letting in seldom beams of warm light. 

The closer they got, the more confusing this tree became. Halfway up its trunk was growing a thick layer of horizontal bark, and at first glance, they looked like wicked eyebrows. The Child blinked, trying to convince himself that they weren’t real, but they moved--they furrowed like real eyebrows would have. 

The tree opened its impossible eyes, staring ceaselessly at the trespassers as they continued to approach without falter. Somehow, in a way without words, the tree conveyed that they were welcome here.

The tree spoke. The tree had a slow, booming voice, and it said “The hero has returned.”

“Sir,” Rutan said, bowing slightly. His voice wavered as he spoke. “You must know why we’ve come here.”

It was around this time that the Child saw what rested between his group and this tree. Suddenly, he had tunnel vision, and all he could see was that sword, tucked into a perfectly white stone. It looked exactly like it did in his history books, and it was practically calling his name.

That loud, hoarse voice spoke once more. “Certainly,” he said. “But it seems that Link here does not.”

There wasn’t even time to consider how this tree knew his name. He felt so many eyes on him. All he wanted to do was leave but he knew that if he tried to walk away it would be in the wrong direction.

This was the sword that had ended The Calamity.  _ The _ Calamity. For as much as it revolted him, he couldn’t look away. His stomach turned. Nothing made sense, and no voices could reach him any longer.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t for him. And yet, he found himself inadvertently stepping forward. He couldn’t quite hear it, but something was beckoning him. 

If it were somehow possible, he felt even more eyes boring into him as he advanced to a crackled stone platform, housing the pedestal… the Master Sword.

His hands were shaking but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the handle. It was smooth, showing wear, but still didn’t look to be as old as the books claimed it was. Certainly millenia of any use at all would have done something to keep the purples and greens from being as vibrant as they were. But no--it almost looked brand new. He could see his torn-up boots reflecting on the perfect blade. 

There were no thoughts involved when he pulled it free with ease. It was quiet all around him but he still felt numb. The sword was heavy, like the one he had no, but it felt somehow familiar at the same time. 

Simultaneously, it felt like the weight was intended for someone else. 

“Link.” Hearing his own name jolted him from whatever sort of haze he’d been trapped inside. He wanted to drop the sword, but he couldn’t stop admiring it, like it wasn’t a weapon but a piece of some puzzle only he could solve. 

The tree spoke even without the undivided attention of the Child. He said, “The Master Sword is now in your hands, just as it was your predecessors. This is more than just a blade. It is a tether between you and destiny. It is a burden that many before you have had no choice but to bear. I am sorry that you are among them. However, you must not let your own darkness overshadow what is happening beyond you. Our world is at the crest of a perilous cycle, and this Sword is the only key that will put it all to end. There will be a new torrent of darkness upon you now that you have come here. No child should have to carry this weight. On behalf of the deity who forged this path, I am so sorry.”

He didn’t understand why he was being apologized to, but it was so genuine that he actually replied with a remorseful look up at the towering tree. 

The air around him seemed to turn stale as he stood there. Something pushed him onward. There was nothing more to discuss.

He took one more look at the massive talking tree. The tree, seemingly content with their conversation, closed his eyes, giant eyebrows settling down over them once more. Somehow, a group of branch-like creatures emerging from the tall grass to wave at him did not faze him. 

With his destined weapon strapped to his back, the Child retreated, almost able to forget how unsettling the woods beyond were. Mostly, he couldn’t shake how awkward the foreign artifact felt, connected to him. 

He couldn’t look back. 

It felt unnecessary in the moment, but he vowed never to return.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I was done introducing new characters? So that was a lie. Behold! A third narrator

He was lost. It was embarrassing, but not completely irredeemable. If he could just track down the Sword, everything would be fine. The coveted Master Sword was about to exit these woods and the Shadow had one objective, and that was to obtain it. Once that Sword left this place, the world would become too vast to track it down.

This, of course, was not his first attempt to seize it. This was not his first venture into these woods. Time and time again, the woods themselves seemed to fight him off. He would always exit in worse spirits than when he’d come in. 

But today was a new day, and the Shadow knew that the Sword was being removed _ today, _ whether or not he was there. He’d followed that kid and his worthless protectors in here, and then he had lost them. It was embarrassing. He could not report another failure. The consequences would be unbearable, even for someone like him.

The Shadow was bored of waiting, but he remained vigilant. He could not let that measly kid walk out of here with what should rightfully belong to him. 

He could not understand how he had managed to lose their trail. They’d been right there, just below the trees where he sat perched. He’d been quieter than any of the wildlife dwelling here. There was no way they had detected him and secretly evaded. They’d gotten lost, too, after all! He’d been following them in circles long enough for their baby _ hero _ to look like a limping, sorrowful hostage. They were so busy trying to find the heart of the forest that they  _ couldn’t  _ have detected him. And yet, they were gone.

On the outside, the Shadow appeared composed. Even without an audience, he would not subtract from his pride. He pulled his shoulders back, perfecting his posture to a point to where it should have been uncomfortable. He remained perched upon a thick tree branch. It was exactly where he’d been ever since he’d realized that his target was out of sight and hearing range. He knew these exterior woods existed to repel evil. It couldn’t be him. He was doing this to  _ protect. _ He wouldn’t harm anyone with that Sword without a very good reason. In his hands, the Master Sword would hurt no one. The forest simply did not seem to understand. 

On the inside, the Shadow’s blood was approaching a boil. The biggest threat to his life were those horrible, ugly Sheikah soldiers. The bigger threat, to his mission, was that child. The Shadow took this day more seriously than any of his prior attempts. Today he was certain that he was secure the Sword, especially since this was the first one that seemed to directly condone violence. He could really fight for it. 

Though his patience was growing thin despite his resolve, he continued to wait. He was anticipating a bloodbath from which he alone would walk away. He’d been given many things, but restraint was missing from his list. He would do what he needed to fulfil this task.

He just had to find them.

They  _ have _ to come out the way they came in. The Shadow knew the Lost Woods well enough to know that there was one entrance and one exit. It could be any time now.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he could not locate them. He couldn’t hear them or smell them or even prove they had been here, if not for the fact that he’d seen them for himself. 

All he could tell right now was that a deer was breathing nearby. He wanted to kill it; it was a distracting noise, but he could not indulge those minutes when they could be here any. Damn. Minute.

He didn’t want to go too far from where he was, but he couldn’t ignore the disconcerting deer. It became a manifestation of all his frustrations. He had to get away if he was going to find those elusive Sheikah. The Shadow could see the foggy earth below him. It wasn’t a long drop, and so he stepped off his tree branch. He landed almost silently on his feet, except for a tiny, almost inaudible crack. 

He miscalculated just enough to have landed incorrectly. He jammed his heel into a misshapen rock, and the pain of something breaking in his ankle seared and then slowly faded as he willed it to heal. The magic in his bones kept him warm and kept him alive. He allowed it to keep him whole, too. Maybe it was more power than he was supposed to have.

All around him, the horrible trees had wicked, invisible faces and they were all mocking him. He curled his fists and suppressed the urge to destroy them. His life revolved around suppression. It was more than the trees, though: in his synthetic heartbeat he could feel the creeping itch to burn this entire damned forest. 

Pulling himself from his self-inflicted, loathsome trance, the Shadow focused on a new noise. There were gentle footsteps some two hundred feet to his right. They didn’t match the rest of the creatures here. They were light, and biped. They were not just any wildlife. The Shadow followed that, grinning: he was sure he’d somehow managed to crack the code.

The Shadow only stopped when the earth below him did, giving way to a steep cliff. The ground below lacked the fog that was up here, and wildflowers existed in their stead.

This was good. The Shadow jumped down, his previously damaged ankle showing no signs of weakness now. And with that, he continued on into the light, and did not falter until he was upon the pedestal where his Sword was supposed to be.

And he was greeted with

Emptiness

All

Around

Him,

Just

Emptiness.

It’s gone.

“Where is the Sword?” He asked, looking toward the Deku Tree, who had been staring him down since he’d arrived. The Shadow was unafraid of his horrible glare. He pursed his lips and returned the look, daring it to speak to him. 

“The Master Sword is in safe hands now.”

There were no hands safer than the Shadow’s. “I need it.”

“You cannot get to it.”

The Shadow opened his mouth to speak, but the words did not come from him. They echoed from somewhere beyond him, bellowing:  _ “Tell me where that anomaly child is. Tell me where you sent him.” _

The Deku Tree said nothing. The Shadow could feel hundreds of pitiful Koroks cowering in the trees. He grinned, and pushed his threat. “ _ I will destroy each and every one of your children if you do not tell me where my blade has gone _ .”

The tree gave him a look that the Shadow could only describe as stupid. In all directions, he felt dissipation and fear. His threat was very real and everyone here understood. He could feel their tremors from the pedestal.

The empty pedestal. The new source of his oncoming fit of rage.

He was not without grace; he gave the tree three elongated seconds to divulge the information he sought. After his internal clock had run out of time, the Shadow bellowed a curse, ensuring this horrid tree would die slowly, but only after he tore each one of his forest spirits to mere shreds.

From somewhere inside him he withdrew his blade but not  _ HIS  _ blade and selected the first child for slaughter by a brittle little limb.The Shadow made sure that repulsive old tree was watching while he fulfilled his promise, giving way to green unfathomable carnage. The only disgust the Shadow sustained was that their disgusting innards pooled upon his shoes.

The Deku Tree’s branches shook in silent grief, and it was the only reaction the Shadow had that he could revel in. These murders were not satisfying. The Koroks did not cry. They did not fight. Experts in hiding they were, but  _ not from him. _

The woods were quiet now. The Shadow regained his composure. In an action not to be mistaken for guilt, sprinted to the forest exit, as quiet as the cadavers he left behind. The cursed tree shouted after him, speaking for the first time since the slaughter began. He said, “You will not win another battle.”

In the dead silent of the vile forest, the Shadow cried out but the growl did not come from his lungs. In fact, it did not come at all.

The forest floor met him in intensity as he stumbled into darkness. His senses were being shut off, only able to feel sharp blades of grass as they cut his palms. 

He had one job and one stupid kid was ruining it all. 

His new set of orders were simple. Leave the forest. Find him. Destroy him before he destroys anything. The words played through his head on a loop. The disembodied voice driving him onward was also driving him mad. 

Leave the forest.

Find him.

Destroy him.

The Shadow, unable to comprehend failure, fled through the forest, trying to fulfill something that he didn’t fully understand either. As his senses flared back to life, the Shadow had a flickering thought, wondering just whose destiny he was trying to fulfil.

When he stood, red eyes open wide, the thought was gone, and he made to leave the forest.

He heard them before he could make it out. It was a miracle that he had managed to catch up to them, given his previous...indulgence. The Sword was  _ still here _ , waiting for him in  _ someone else’s  _ hands.

The forest cloaked him perfectly. He was but a perfect shadow with no source. If he closed his glowing eyes, he was undetectable.

Then they came, seemingly without a care in the world. One of the men was talking,  _ loudly _ . The Shadow crept quietly behind. The man in the back of the group was quiet, too. The plunge of a crooked dagger into his spine went unnoticed until he collapsed, his untouched weaponry clattering to the rocky ground. He did not have the Sword. The Shadow couldn’t waste any more time on this man, who lay bleeding and gasping on the ground.

The group, now three, turned around, and the Shadow’s dagger dissolved from the man’s back and into his hand once more. He was ready to fight, but so was the previously chattering man. He’d drawn a sword, an old curved thing, and the Shadow knew how easy it would be to disarm his opponent and move on to the kid, the thief of his destiny.

It must have been embarrassing for their leader to have been defeated in less time than it took to fall asleep. Again, not wasting any time, he turned to the two children.

One child was protecting another.

The taller boy with dark skin and horrified eyes drew a weapon and shouted. “Link, get  _ out of here!”  _

And the Sword-bearer hesitated but turned away. The Shadow lunged for his prize, the weapon that gave him purpose. He was surprised to have missed. The Sheikah kid had thrown off his momentum by slicing clean through his arm. The limb disappeared, fading into nothing before it could hit the ground below. It would be back, but not before this fight ended.

_ “You could have lived,” _ he growled in a voice like thunder. It was obviously a lie. A new blade came to him, and with his left hand he lunged for the Sheikah kid.

He’d underestimated his opponent, for even though he was a mere mortal child, he managed to evade the attack. The Shadow wanted to laugh and make another quip, but his opponent was too fast. Within seconds the Shadow had a dagger plunged into his clavicle. It seared only when the boy twisted and withdrew the knife. It tore through his skin with ease (like he earlier had torn through the children of the forest). Cleanly, like if by some mistake the Shadow were a full-fledged man.

Blinded by rage, the Shadow erupted in a fury of thoughtless swipes. With magic and shadows pouring from his unfamiliar wounds, his head was spinning in a way he’d never before experienced. He landed several blows, unsure if any of them were lethal. He was dizzy.

He was dizzy and unable to bask in the satisfaction of his kills. He perished just as equally as all the bodies he lay among.

His true enemy had escaped with his objective.

He would be back to fulfil his purpose and his self-proclaimed destiny.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Sorry for the delay! I'm really trying to get everything ready to go in a timely manner (aka weekly), but it's back to school/unavoidable plague time here in America, and seeing as I work at a university, my workload has been a little... cumbersome, as of late. :\ I appreciate your patience, as well as your readership!

Running had never before exhausted him so quickly. His ankles and knees were protesting every heavy step, but he did not relent because he simply... could not. 

No one needed to tell him that whatever that monster was had been there for him. This whole “secret special mission” had been for him. Everything that had happened was, in all respects, his fault. 

Being chosen by the Goddesses was a chore.

His lungs were searing and he dared not look back as the fog cleared around him. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything behind him, anyway, in its density.

From here, it was a steady downhill slope to whatever was next waiting for him. The hill hadn’t felt this steep on the way up.

He wasn’t running, he was fleeing. How could the “chosen one” be fleeing?

The mud that had earlier been such a large obstacle for the group was now two short, adrenaline-fueled leaps. He made it to the other side without even considering the danger that lurked below. It was nothing compared to what he was leaving behind.

To make up for this absence of a problem, of course, The Child was alone now. He knew he would continue to be alone for the rest of his venture back to wherever it was he was to return to. He didn’t even know what his destination was called.

With his shoes inches from the mud, he took a second and stopped to take a breath. Somehow, he didn't feel he deserved it, but his body felt like it was on the brink of collapse.

Now that he was standing still, panting like a dog, in the middle of some remote woods, he did not want to start running again. He was too exhausted to keep going. He could just sit here and wait for something or someone to tell him where to go.

But, at the same time, Shidante had not yelled at him so intensely only for him to stop here. He’d had no time to react to the unexpected, sudden attack. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened to Rutan and Jorra. Killing Bokoblins and Lizalfos was one thing, but this was different in a way that he couldn’t decipher.

Whatever had happened to the grown-ups would likely happen to Shidante, too. The monster had been so fast. And it was to happen to him, too, if he didn’t keep going. Shidante had told him to run, and he’d stopped running now. Why had he stopped?

The guilt of letting him down pushed the Child to pull himself together and resume running. The hill practically pulled him down.

The Master Sword still felt awkward on his back. It acted as a constant reminder that it was still here, and it was to become the source of all his burdens; past and future. It was certainly heavier than its mass. 

He couldn’t--didn’t want to--admit it, but he also felt like he wasn't alone. He hoped it was because of some weird, unknown sword magic, and not because that monster was tailing him. Either way, there was no time to stop and investigate, especially if it was that monster. Its glowing red eyes were a waking nightmare. 

It did not take him long to find the remnants of the camp they had stopped at for lunch just this early afternoon. If he had not been looking for it, he would have missed it. For a minute and not a second more, he stopped here, waiting for Shidante to catch up. Surely, he would catch up, and they could not get too separated. 

But after that minute of tenacious hope, something told him that he needed to move on. Shidante, against all optimism, was not going to catch up. He could not justify this.

He did not need to wonder how many times he would stop for short little breaks like this. 

As the bottom of the hill came ever closer, he had to hesitate as it forked in a perpendicular path, and beyond that was a murky, polluted body of water.

No photographs in any history book had prepared him for how large the castle was in person. And here, across this river, it towered over all things.

It wasn’t beautiful like he had been told. It looked old, weathered, and a few bad years away from collapse. It had an aura around it that made the Child take a step backward without thinking.

Upon closer inspection, the castle seemed to be crawling with monsters, the likes of which he’d never before seen. Black, shadowy creatures were patrolling just on the other side of this river. 

“Say, young one! What are you doing all the way out here? And by yourself, no less!”

He turned around to the source of the squeaky, somewhat abrasive voice. It belonged to a woman unlike any he’d seen before.

Somehow, he’d earlier run right past her, distracted by the giant landmark of the castle.

It was obvious just from looking at her that she was a Rito. The Child knew he was gawking. There had never been any non-Hylian visitors to Hateno Town, at least not in his lifetime. This was the first time he’d ever seen a Rito. 

Despite what he knew his mother would say were she here, the Child did not attempt to hide his bewildered expression. This Rito was tall. Taller than he’d imagined them to be. She was pretty, too: her feathers were an in-between of light green and soft yellow, contrasting her dark eyes and clothing. Her voice hadn’t been scolding, and she didn’t look angry. She just stood there, seemingly waiting for him to say something. 

He noticed now where she stood. Looking up, the decaying profile of a large, wooden horse upon its roof marked the remnants of an old stable. It looked to be abandoned now. Its paint was all but completely faded. The tarps and boards that once made a roof were torn and collapsed. It was surrounded by a wooden fence, but even that seemed to have collapsed, too.

“Well?” The Rito woman asked, tilting her head. “Are you okay, little one?”

He blinked. She stepped closer. He didn’t move. Whatever presence he’d felt with him as he ran was beginning to subside now. It made him feel less afraid, like that somehow made this person safe.

“Um,” she said, unsure because he hadn’t responded. “Where are you going?”

All he could do was point east. All he knew was that he was going east. On the horizon, where the sun was hanging low now, (where had all the time gone?) the Child saw no landmark as to where the Sheikah were waiting for his group’s return. It filled him with dread, not knowing where he was supposed to go. He took a deep, heaving breath, trying not to become overwhelmed by his emotions.

“By yourself?”

He nodded. Tears began to well in his eyes against his will. He moved to wipe them away, but the Rito woman came closer, sat down, and pulled him into a hesitant hug.

He didn’t know who she was, and she didn’t know who he was. Despite this, she let him cry for a moment until he was able to breathe again. When she let him go, he finally stepped back, and saw movement behind her.

It was another Rito. Two more, actually. They were tiny and stocky with large, unsettling eyes. The Child had no way to determine a Rito’s age by their appearance, but they had to be young.

This was confirmed when the woman who had hugged him introduced them to him as her kids. She said, “We were making our first flight from the village all the way to Tarrey Town, to spend the winter with my sister. The kids were getting tired, so we decided to take a little break here. And what good timing, too, because we found you!”

She gestured for him to follow her into the stable. Now, all remnants of whatever unease he’d felt were numbed.

The stable was now just an empty room with damp wooden floors and a single vertical support beam. The family had spread a blanket across the floor, but he could still feel how soggy the floor was as he sat upon it.

The kids were relentless with questions. It seemed that they had never before met a Hylian. They quickly learned that they got answers only if they asked yes or no questions, and seemed to make a game of it.

“Are you all so tiny?”

“So you can’t fly  _ at all?” _

“Can you run really fast, at least?”

“Wait--can you swim?”

“And you don’t have  _ any _ feathers?”

“That’s so sad.”

The torrent of seemingly random, carefree questions were a welcome distraction. This random family was eagerly inviting him to spend time with them, sharing their berries and water with him. He was apprehensive about the strange pink fruit, but did not turn down the water.

Unusual comfort aside, he didn’t want to stay, because that monster could very well still be following. He was unable to convey his distress to the family. These people were perhaps not the best at reading discomfort. 

He thought that maybe his anxiety was apparent when a fourth Rito appeared in the doorway, backlit by the sun. It caused the Child to startle. The man stepped inside, and no one said anything about his jumpiness. Not even the kids, who had been talking almost nonstop since welcoming him in, seemed to notice. They had immediately jumped to their feet to welcome their father in.  
Their father accepted him just as easily. He’d brought dinner for his wife and kids, which appeared to be a variety of fish. He hoped they weren’t from that murky river. Though they insisted, the Child really was not hungry. 

He needed a way to dismiss himself and get going.

As they sat outside, minutes later, around a meager, baby fire, the Child pointed off onto the eastern horizon once again.  _ I need to go. _

“Hey, we’re going that way, too,” the man said. His gray feathers almost blended in with the smoke between them. “You should travel with us.”

“Yes,” the woman said, clapping in agreement, “A young boy like you shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially this close to the castle. It’s dangerous, you know.” She looked at him. “Would you like to come with us, little one?”

The Child stood up and shook his head. Traveling with them would only put them in danger.

She looked solemn. “Are you sure?”

“Ah, he seems like a well-equipped kid,” the man said. “Look at that sword! It looks almost like the one that the old Hylian Champion used.”

She nodded. “It is a nice replica,” she said, “but I still don’t feel right leaving you behind.” She looked at him. “You’d be safer in the air with us. It’s faster that way, anyway.”

He blinked. Despite this family being equipped with wings, he hadn’t considered that they would be flying. Slowly, contemplating, he sat back down. And when he was fully seated, his decision had been made.

“Well, that’s settled,” said the man. The Child realized he didn’t know any of their names. He did not ask for them. He asked for nothing, and ate what hot fish and cold rice he was offered. As the sun began to set, he took off into the evening sky with this strange, overwhelmingly kind family.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! For this chapter I will let you know that there's a cw for violence, language, and implied torture. Personally, I am adverse to excessive gore, so there's none of that, but I just wanted to make sure you all knew beforehand! :*

“Are you feeling okay?” The question was proposed with caution.

Link shrugged without much commitment. Truthfully, he’d woken up with a headache. It had taken root all the way into his neck, a feeling not dissimilar from whiplash. As a result, the darkened room was still too bright. He was squinting.

But that didn’t matter and he would not share his ailments with Rulota, no matter how obvious they were. What  _ did _ matter were the pieces of himself he’d just dug up and regained. While it had granted him no answers, he still found comfort in that he and Zelda had been granted time to experience life in a time not filled with treachery. 

It felt like more than a memory. It was as if he’d been reliving it. Even here, in Zora’s Domain, centuries later, he remembered things. He remembered the way the mushrooms had tasted, or the way his footsteps had sounded in the naked castle hallways. They were fragmented to hell, for sure, but they were still very much real.

Waking up meant he would begin to silently mourn a forgotten past he could not return to. The migraine he now suffered was neither the beginning nor the end of his suffering.

He was sitting up in a bed he hadn’t been in when he’d dove into his memories. When this began, he’d been over there, across the room, sitting on the floor. Candles still sat burning on the floor. They were significantly shorter than when they’d begun.

Rulota had been sitting at the edge of the bed since even before he’d woken up minutes ago. She now reached out and touched his arm. Her hand was cold, he thought, but she reeled it back quickly and commented on his heightened temperature.

In the candlelit room, Link looked at her, but only saw her father’s citrine eyes and their subtle concern. One more thing he had yet to mourn. His head was pounding. He had to shut his eyes. Tightly.

The bed shifted: Rulota stood up in haste. “Don’t move. I’m going to go get…”

Link didn’t find out what it was she was going to go get. He didn’t even know which way he had fallen as he involuntarily collapsed back into the past. Another memory was writhing and clawing its way to him.

He knew exactly what he must have looked like. His formerly bright green tunic was now shredded and covered in dirt, dust, and blood. Undoubtedly there were dark circles beneath his eyes. There couldn’t have been any other color to his face. His hair had grown beyond a comfortable length, covering his eyes if he leaned too far forward. He could not move his hands to brush it away. Regardless, the view would be the same.

Three walls of dark gray-red clay held him in. The fourth was made of narrow wooden bars. The control to release the bars was on the other side. There was no way out, even if his hands weren’t bound.

He was to rot here as a coward.

He’d been granted no benevolence here with not even a pile of straw upon which he could sleep. He was famished, more dehydrated than he’d been in a long time, and overwhelmed with exhaustion.

With no windows, there was no way to measure the passage of days. He’d been here long enough for the panic to pass. He felt broken in, like even if these bars didn’t exist he would not have the energy to break out.

He knew what his fate was to be.

The worst part was the constant surveillance. Just beyond those bars sat one or two Yiga spies at all times. The Yiga did nothing to disguise themselves. Their masks appeared in his sleep, on the occasion that he still dreamed. Today, they weren’t even looking at him. Two guards sat outside, playing some card game on a small table.

They did not acknowledge him and he did not acknowledge them. If he looked in their direction, all Link would see were their snacks and water. He was suffering enough as it was.

If he kept his eyes closed like this, he tried to imagine the hideout beyond this sorry lockup. There was a staircase to the left. It was six, maybe seven feet down. That was all he could recall. Last time he had been here, he was too busy trying not to be caught. He’d spent most of his time in the ceiling back then.

Even if he managed to escape, he did not want to go down. The exit was right there, dead ahead. They put their little jail right inside the hideout. It was a shameful mockery.

Link was dumbfounded the most by the amount of Yiga members he’d seen. He thought that killing their leader would end the group, but the opposite seemed to be true. 

His last visit here was long ago, but the hideout had been abandoned then. It had shocked him to see their hideout back to its regular use.

None of this made sense. He didn’t even know how he’d been captured. He had always been so careful not to fall into an ambush. Before the Calamity fell, attacks had been close to happening on a day-to-day basis. “Careful” was his default, and he’d still ended up here.

He knew what his fate was to be, and he would never show his confusion or his fear. None of these masked men deserved to see that.

Every now and then, he’d doze off with his head leaning against the cold wall behind him. He never got more than a short nap. The guards outside changed often, and they changed loudly. This particular time jolted Link awake because the bars were groaning open.

Four soldiers of various stature stood on the other side, unmoving until the bars were completely gone. Then, as if rehearsed, they stepped toward him.

This happened every now and again for him to get whatever food they were offering him. They rarely untied his hands. His wrists were constantly bleeding from how tightly they’d been tied. When the Yiga let him eat, it was less of him eating and more of him being force fed. It was beyond uncomfortable; therefore they continued to keep him alive in this manner.

As unpleasant as it was, it was the only thing he looked forward to. It was the only routine he had. It meant he had more time to either break out or be saved. He was going to stay alive and someone was going to find him before his fate was set in stone.

He was nervous this time, as the bars rose away. There were never four people. None of them had any food.

“On your feet,” the tallest man said. They gave him no time to react before another one stepped inside, grabbed him under his arm, and hoisted him to his feet with no resistance. His limbs felt like static and protested this new position, but the guards did not care for his discomfort. That much was obvious by the state of the cell.

“He looks like shit,” one said.

“Good,” said another. With two people holding him at each of his shoulders, they took him down the stairs. The hideout was cold. No torches were lit. The further down the stairs they went, the chillier he became.

It was almost completely dark as they approached the bottom. Link could barely see the person in front of him. No, scratch that-he could not see anything now. The darkness welcomed him in a way he did not like.

He had no way to defend himself when one of the guards holding him by the shoulder gave him a shove, sending him the rest of the way to the bottom. His hands were tied. He could not brace for the impact. 

He landed clumsily on one side in a way that left his entire right arm numb. His face was bleeding from somewhere. A guard pulled him up onto his feet once more, laughing. Someone said in a sneer, “Is this really the guy who killed Master Kohga?”

The feeling of blood dripping down his cheek was driving him insane, It’s all he let himself focus on. It finally reached his neck when they pushed him into another room, brightly lit with large torches on all the walls.

One person was waiting inside. He looked exactly the same as everyone else, with the ridiculous uniform and defiled Sheikah mask. However, based on the way his four transporters bowed as they entered, this person had to be someone.

A new leader had resumed activity in this hideout.

“ _ Master _ Link,” he crooned, mocking his title in a voice that hid no emotion. “Oh, how I have waited to see you.”

Link said nothing. He stared. The blood on his neck was uncomfortable. He couldn’t feel his shoulder anymore, either. Nothing about this was good.

He knew ever still what his fate was to be. He closed his eyes. His promise not to show fear was slowly being pushed away. Despite how cold it was, he was sweating.

“Look at me, murderer.” 

Terrified, Link looked at him.

“Do you know what you have done to my family?” the man asked, silently rising from the strange-looking rectangular table he’d been perched upon. “You’ve ruined us.”

Link hadn’t noticed that everyone else had vacated the room. A steel door shut behind him. He did not startle. He did not look away from this person.

The person removed his mask, revealing his plain, dark face. The torches on all walls kept his face moving in the shadows. Link was not supposed to recognize this person. He did not.

“I need to get a good look at you when I gut you. Truthfully, I’d love to throw you into the well to rot with our esteemed leader. But that would just be too nice. Ah, look at you. You’re shaking. The savior of the kingdom, eh? What a joke.”

Link often forgot that the Yiga were as stealthy as the Sheikah they’d once been loyal to. Link was internally shocked that the man was suddenly in his face. He grabbed Link by his numb arm and threw him forcefully onto the table. Something cracked, and Link couldn’t feel where or what it was.

He could not even try to struggle. His hands were still tied.

“I hope that Master Kohga is watching this, knowing that vengeance is upon us. Well, do you have anything to say before you’re vivisected? That means you’ll be alive, by the way. You are going to feel this.”

Link did not, in fact, have anything to say. As he fell unconscious, he realized that it must have been his skull that had cracked.

He woke to an audience. Dozens of white Yiga masks were looking down from the rafters and platforms above. It was daytime: high windows on the ceiling shone sunlight down on him alone. 

“Welcome back,” said the man who had thrown him. “ _ So glad _ to see you’re still among us.”

His vision was blurry, but he turned to look at his assailant. It was the man from before, still without his mask. Someone stood next to him with a polished axe.

“I’ve got a question for you, o mighty champion. When I send your dismembered body back to the castle, how many pieces do you suppose Zelda would prefer?”

For the first time, this got a reaction. Link writhed, but was bound now by chains to this table. Immediately, his movement was punished as pain spread across his torso, like the tearing open of old scars. He could not bear to look down. He squoze his eyes shut and did all he could not to cry.

Above him, Yiga clansmen laughed.

“Or maybe,” he continued, taking the axe with him as he rounded the table, “I’ll just send your head? The rest of you can rot in the well.”

After all his confinement, Link finally spoke. He did not open his eyes. He did not have the courage to look his killer in the face.

“Fuck you,” he spat, in a voice so pathetic that the laugh from above turned into a roar.

It was the last thing Link would say, because the axe cared not for prolific last words.

He woke up with something halfway between a shriek and a gasp. It was daytime in Zora’s domain. He was not alone, but it was not the Queen accompanying him. The Zora leapt from her seat and wordlessly departed in haste, and Link knew who she was going to fetch.

Rulota would not stop apologizing from the second she entered the room. “I didn’t realize,” she sobbed, “that I was going to hurt you so badly. Link, please forgive me.”

“It was just… a nightmare,” Link concluded, unable to admit otherwise. But, just to be sure, he asked, “Do you have a mirror?”

Obviously confused by the question, Rulota said, “yes, somewhere, but Link, we have to make sure you’re okay first. You haven’t eaten since this whole thing began.”

“I feel fine,” he lied, ignoring the wall of anxiety closing in around him. “Please, Rulota.”

“It’s been four days,” she said, speaking less as a caretaker. Again, her father’s concern crept in. “Maybe you’ll want to eat something first. Here, I have some bread. I’m not sure what it is you Hylians eat when you’re sick, I do apologize. I had no idea what this was going to do to you. I am so sorry.”

The bread was fine. He received the small roll, took a deliberate bite, then said, “I need a mirror.”

Eventually, his request was fulfilled. Receiving it, he sprung out of bed and on shaky legs walked to a window where he’d see better.

It was easy to find the straight white scar all the way around his neck. He wasn’t shocked or disgusted by it. Instead, he turned to Rulota slowly. He put the mirror down on a nearby table and walked away from it.

He asked, “About the last time I…” Could he say that he died, if he was here now? “Do you know how they found me?”

Understanding, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I do not.”

Her patience and calmness was irritating him. “Let’s find someone who does.”

“You need a real meal. Let’s go--”

“I’ll eat later.” In his last life, he surely would never have walked out on any queen. This was not his last life. 

Rulota managed a compromise. Downstairs, he sat across a table from a Zora elder. Rulota said that the only way they could talk was if Link ate something in the meantime. Link wasn’t hungry.

The elder was a man he recognized. Four hundred years may have aged him, but Gruve’s enthusiasm had not been curbed. He was thrilled to see Link.

Link, however, could not express enthusiasm. He had no time to be nostalgic. He almost immediately asked, as a plate of steamed trout was placed before him, “Do you remember what happened to me? After I disappeared, I mean.”

Even for as direct and selfish as the question was, Link felt justified to ask it, and Gruve seemed not to mind. He leaned back and exhaled deeply, taking too much time to respond. Link took one bite of his food in the meantime. 

“I do remember that day.” He shifted in his seat, avoiding Link’s gaze. “We heard news from Kakariko Village first, actually. They, ah. Are you sure you want to know?”

He nodded.

Gruve then looked over his shoulder at Rulota, who was standing in the doorway. Surely she had things to do, but Link didn’t mention her presence. Finally, Gruve said, “Well, it’s strange. I’m not sure which happened first. It was really a rumor, at first and I didn’t even believe it until… until you were gone for years, Link. I don’t think many of us wanted to believe it. But then, you know, we had to accept that it really had been you that they found.”

_ Just tell me. _

“No one knew what happened or where you were. You just, supposedly, one day… I don’t like thinking about it, Link. The Sheikah came with the news that your body was found, and... it was in bad shape.”

Rulota stepped in. “I think that’s enough, yes?” She said, coming close but not sitting with them. Link ignored her, and it seemed Gruve did too.

“You couldn’t have been alive when they nailed you to a big tree by the Kakariko gate… I hope you don’t remember any of what they did before then.”

_ I do, and I don’t. Keep talking.  _

“You were banged up. I’m surprised that you even are here, now, considering…” Gruve made a gesture with his hand by his neck.

_ Yes, I know. _

“You were, ah, missing pieces, according to the Sheikah. Your head, some innards. It was your heart, I think. Ah, I don’t know all the details, of course, I wasn’t there. And later, another messenger arrived from the Royal Guard. Someone managed to sneak into the castle and said that, um, the rest of you had been dropped off in your bedroom.”

Link said nothing. He was looking beyond Gruve.

“What happened to Zelda?” he asked after. “Was she okay after?”

“Okay,  _ that’s _ enough,” Rulota said with authority, and that answered everything Link needed to hear. He stood suddenly, ignoring the tunnel vision that came with it. 

He felt he did not need to announce his departure. No one stopped him as he fled Zora’s Domain. He didn’t even look back as he left it behind. 

There was a fork in the road of his destiny, and he could not proceed without his sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also my friends told me that I need to add in the fact that today is my birthday. Plus, I noticed that I got to 500 hits on this fic this week! So, when I'm sitting outside tonight with my cat and a margarita I will be celebrating not only the slow approach of old age, but also this milestone that I owe to each and every one of you. Thank you. I love you


	12. Chapter 12

A cold hand pressed to his forehead kept him grounded. It kept him awake. There was surely no shame in falling asleep, but he had already slept for so long. Too long. He was feeling better today, even if only a little. At least, he felt better physically: the fever was subsiding. He still felt like his own thoughts had him caught in an inescapable vice.

He was sick of laying here. The ground was stiff and unrelenting, and inside his sealed-off tent he hadn’t seen the sun for days. It had to have been days, but he had no sure way of knowing.

Ever since getting practically dropped here by that friendly Rito family, he’d felt sick. They’d said in the air that he would feel better when he landed, that he was just unfamiliar with being so high up. Things did not get better on the ground.

The Sheikah didn’t ask a lot of questions about the entire ordeal. No one seemed surprised that he’d come back alone. The Child thought that losing his friend had been enough of a wound. Somehow, returning to find that no one was going to mourn with him was something far more devastating. It didn’t feel exceptionally somber anywhere but inside his tent, where he faded between realities.

In his absence, their camp had become less of a shabby, temporary setup, and more of a headquarters for something beyond him. Upon arrival, before collapsing in exhaustion, he’d seen the state of this place. As he was whisked off to mandatory bedrest, he’d seen something of a dining area, where tables had been built, with comfortable-looking chairs all around. A few of the men were huddled together playing cards. They seemed so comfortable. Had they seen the darkness surrounding the castle beyond them?

“It’s a miracle you even made it back, as sick as you are,” a woman said. If the Child closed his eyes, he could hear his mother’s concern. He kept his eyes closed.

The Master Sword was mocking him as it lay within arm’s reach. Every time he was woken up to be forced into a meal, he could hear it. It was a horrible, incomprehensible whisper, but no one else seemed to pay it any mind. The Child did his best to ignore it, too.

He couldn’t find the energy to do anything but he had to do something. Every second he lay here was a second lost, and a second closer to that monster making another appearance. Its red eyes burned through all his memories. Every time he dozed off he’d been met with inevitable nightmares. There was no winning, and there was no pushing these thoughts away.

Despite his best efforts, every memory was seemingly plagued now. If he thought about his family, that shadowy man would intrude. He always went back to his last birthday with his sister... they were having pie. It was a birthday tradition. 

That year, Aster was allowed to cut the pie herself. Her slice was way too big, but she plopped it down on her plate anyway. Fruit juice leaked all over her plate as mama argued with her that she couldn't have that much right before bed. Of course, Aster was argumentative as always. He took advantage of that. As their debate had neared a tipping point, the Child had stealthily slid the plate toward him. No one noticed as he managed to get under the table with it.

The memory was interrupted then, as he was under the table, unable to see anything. He could feel the shadow. It was enough.

This happened countless times as he simultaneously fought against his fever. At least he had hopes of winning that battle. As if somehow proving this to himself, he painstakingly sat up.

Whatever it was the sword was trying to tell him was still beyond any means of comprehension. He covered it with his bedroll and left it there. He left his tent, discovering that it was somehow morning. He stood very still for a moment, the remnants of his fever somehow delaying his recognition.

“Oh, good morning, Link!” Someone said. He didn’t recognize who it was. He didn’t recognize anyone anymore. He gave them a weak smile. Doing his best not to stumble, he wandered across these old ruins. An ancient stone plaza still existed beneath him. Rocks occasionally cracked under what little weight he carried.

This place was somehow significant. He did not know how or when that was. A cliff on one side seemed to touch the clouds, and even beyond that was another blue tower, identical to the one at home. Identical to the one from the woods. He’d seen so many of them from the air on his way here. He no longer cared what they were for. They were just part of the landscape, acting as some unknown landmark.

The worst part of it all was that there was nowhere for him to go to be alone. It was a valley between cliffs with nowhere to hide. Still, he tried, sitting by a large rock that was close to some sort of a drop-off. He heard a faint waterfall somewhere, but couldn’t see it.

It did not take long for someone to find him. It was an old woman that he faintly remembered from his brief periods of waking. He did not acknowledge her, but she sat beside him, also leaning against the rock. She held a plate in her hands.

“You’re probably sick of stews and soups,” she said. The Child didn’t look at whatever food it was she was offering. Nonetheless, she continued: “But it seems as though we are going to stay here. This citadel was once the most formidable place in all of Hyrule, you know. It could be that way again. Anyway, some of the men built me a nice little kitchen. I made curry last night, and saved some for you. There’s rice growing wild all over this place, so… it’s fresh.”

Finally, as if giving in to something shameful, the Child took the plate. Something in his first bite overwhelmed him. It was the first thing he’d eaten since leaving that reminded him of home, but not coming from a place of contempt. He didn’t know this woman’s name, but she sat with him as something boiled over. He couldn’t quite place it as homesickness.

When he was done letting go of everything that carried him here, he went back to his tent, and the Master Sword was quiet. 

“You need to take this seriously,” said the soldier standing across from him. “What’s it going to take?”

But he  _ was  _ taking this seriously. He really was trying, but the weight of this sword combined with the weight of the world was difficult to bear. It was obvious to him and everyone around that he was not going to be strong enough to do this. They were asking him to kill, and he could barely understand what it would mean.

No one else seemed to comment on his genuine lack of strength. When the Sheikah soldiers would run from one end of the valley to the other, he was last to return every time. Eventually, more people had arrived here. It was beginning to become some sort of sanctuary for Hylians as well, and it was beginning to feel like a shabby little village. Kids his age were appearing, too. He was not surprised that he was rarely allowed to play with them.  _ They  _ didn’t have the burdens of destiny on them.

“Link, you don’t understand how important this is. We can’t act until you are ready.” As his opponent spoke, the Sword hummed in his hands. He lunged at him, but his blade only clanged against the shield of his opponent. He was still too slow.

Of course he understood how important this was. No one would shut up about it.

“You know what, you guys should take a break,” said someone else with disdain.

He left his sword leaning in its scabbard against a tree. Ceremonious it was not, but he didn’t care. There was never a moment where all eyes weren’t on him. Nothing was going to happen to it.

It was odd that a mail carrier had arrived as the Child had sat down with a cup of water. The woman with the mail, a dark-haired Hylian, breathlessly sought someone to take the papers she was holding. The Child didn’t even notice her. 

All he saw was the horse that she’d ridden in. It was unlike any he’d seen before. Unlike the horses from the delivery days at Hateno, this one was almost silver. Its estranged, marbled coat shone beyond imagination in whatever sunlight escaped the cloud ceiling above.

The cup of water he’d just been given was forgotten. He rose from his stump-like chair. He didn’t hear the postwoman’s breathless, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just got word from Zora’s Domain.” He didn’t hear the exclamations from everyone within earshot. It was like he suddenly had tunnel vision.

His sister wouldn’t believe him if he came home and said that he pet that horse. He didn’t hesitate. The horse even tilted its head down so he could touch its soft nose.

Nothing else felt important for just a second. In that moment, it seemed nothing would interrupt this strange blanket of tranquility, but it wasn’t to last.

Someone shouted. “ _ Sarolk, you need to see this!”  _ And the entire settlement seemed to freeze or skip a beat, including the Child and his new friend.

The man named Sarolk approached with significant haste. The Child noted that this was the man who had been overseeing his training. He didn’t know anything else about him. Sarolk skimmed the papers the woman had brought on her horse. He looked at the mail carrier, then glanced at the Child. The eye contact was brief, for the woman with the horse had another message.

Sarolk read this one much more quickly. When he was finished, he tore both letters and stormed away wordlessly to throw them into a fire.

Unsure what else there was to do, the Child turned back to the horse. Its eyes were much bigger than he thought they would be up close. The horse blinked.

“You must be Link,” the woman said, suddenly beside him. She smiled, like his presence was a relief. Had only she known what the rest of the people here thought of him. That relief would be impossible. Regardless, the Child shot his arms down to his sides, unable to pull his posture into something respectable. She laughed. “No, you can pet her. She loves the attention.”

It didn’t take long for someone to call him back to battle. As he turned to leave, the mail carrier put a foot in a stirrup. “Big things are about to happen, Link. Everywhere. You’re going to be great.” She grinned, like this was grand news. They parted ways, leaving him as confused as ever.

Big things were already happening--what else could there be?

Two days later, he learned exactly what she’d meant. Five new Hylians appeared. It was warmer than the days past. Everyone had seemed… lighter. And then the five Hylians appeared on four horses. 

His back had been turned, and he hadn’t seen or heard them approach. He’d only turned away when his opponent had dropped his weapon, visibly shocked. He remembered this moment, because something changed.

When he turned around to witness what had caused such a lull across the training ground, he saw the uniforms first. They were dressed exactly like the men who made deliveries to Hateno town. The three uniformed men surrounded the last horse, carrying two passengers: a woman and a child.

When life seemingly resumed for the Sheikah, the woman and child were whisked away. It wasn’t until breakfast the next morning did he meet them.

Meeting her was not a priority or even a concern of his, but the adults had pushed them to sit at the same table. He sat down and stared while she scarfed down a plate of crepes.

A thin young woman with white-blonde hair smiled at him as he sat down. Then, to the girl beside her, she scolded, “you’re going to get sick if you eat that fast, Zelda.”

Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, was seeking refuge here.

She was eager to talk to anyone who would listen. The Child did not object to her chatter. In his silence, she told him the story of her flee from the castle; the constant running from monsters; the threat of danger following her at every corner. She didn’t seem afraid of any of it. She waved her arms around theatrically, smacking the woman beside her repeatedly. He later learned that this was the Queen of Hyrule.

They were here. Two more people he was supposed to protect.

He was no longer listening to her stories. She’d gotten into miniscule details anyway, like describing a “really super cool mushroom” she’d found growing out of a log in extreme detail.

“I’m like a fairy-tale bandit,” she’d squealed, like this was a game. “The bad guys keep coming to get their butts kicked.”

Someone else joined their table. It was the man who had read the letters. His name was already forgotten, a memory diluted by the weight of the present.

He said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Princess.”

The Princess stopped talking. She focused very intently on the table in front of her, and then after a very long pause, turned and said to the Child, “Are you going to eat your raspberries?” She snatched his plate away from before he could answer. Everyone ignored the scolding her mother attempted.

The Princess’s energy annoyed him. It did not match anything else about this place.

It annoyed him even more when the Sheikah told him after breakfast that it was part of his destiny to keep her safe. How much destiny could one person shoulder?

The Master Sword began to whisper again next he picked it up. Perhaps Zelda heard it too. He began to carry it everywhere as instructed, and the first time he’d approached her with it she stopped talking about her dead leaf collection to stare. It was a strange, unspoken moment of solidarity between the three of them.

He did not understand why any of this was happening. The grown-ups and the Queen of Hyrule had gone into this big ordeal about destiny and reincarnation, which was completely lost on him. None of it explained why this was happening to him specifically.

From that night on, the Child slept but all his dreams led to those demonic red eyes honing in on the Princess.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the lapse in updates! The real world has become burdensome, but I swear I'm going to try to get this back on track. Thanks for your patience!

Despite the way the world felt like it was collapsing around him, Link focused on how tranquil the evening was. He felt alone, but he clearly was not--the wildlife made itself known in many ways, from the crickets chirping to the deer quietly settling in for the night. 

He had no idea for how long he could maintain this peace. The future was just as daunting as the past. He couldn't tell which was more adverse.

He had too much to think about, so he could focus on none of it.  _ Someone else could do this.  _ If fate entrusted a random kid to fulfill this heaping destiny, so be it. Link knew this bitter taste was uncharacteristic and unbecoming, but he already had served his purpose. This was not supposed to be his burden. This time, he had the choice to not let this bear down on him. He suddenly no longer held any interest in saving a world that had once repaid him with an execution.

He understood that Rulota had nothing but good intentions when she had tried to help him recover old memories. He could not decide if this block in his memory had been installed by the fundamental mechanics of the Resurrection Shrine this time. Maybe he had done this one himself. Regardless, curiosity be damned, it should not have been removed. Link wished he didn't know.  _ Imagine that. _

There had been good intentions from nearly everyone he'd met since waking up, and somehow things always went awry. Though he wanted to push the fault away from himself, he knew that his shortcomings had only him as the common factor. It was always his own doing.

Descending the cliffs that surrounded Zora's Domain was never a challenge. A lack of monsters in the area had Link taking no regards for his stealth. He barely even felt like he was physically there. He felt no pressure on his knees when he stumbled onto the rocks. He barely felt the hunger he certainly had. His only discomfort was in his mind. Soon enough, the shock would wear off, and he'd have to deal with it, but not yet.

He was cycling through the same thoughts. He couldn't make them quiet down, and even if he could he probably would not. He wanted to think of nothing else. There was nothing more pressing than resolving his past.

As the sun fled past the horizon, Link was left in the dark with a headache. He had no energy left to seek shelter. There wasn't any danger here, anyway. He practically collapsed against a tree when he thought he was reaching the end of his energy. He did not sleep.

These trails used to be drenched in constant rain. He remembered the hordes of electric Keese that had made the nearby caves their homes. Link himself had ended the continuous downpour here, and, though he had never really thought about it before, he hadn't seen any Keese around here in large numbers since. 

Nothing could change the past, but looking back, Link never thought he had made the wrong choices. He had guidance back then. He had none now, and was learning too quickly how desperately he needed that guidance. 

The moon made itself known well after the sun had gone. He'd been sitting for hours. He'd seen no one else pass through. He took advantage of his solitude to scream incoherently into the night. Not even the wildlife seemed to startle at his outburst. His voice had no impact on the world around him.

It never had, had it?

His job had always been to follow silently behind someone. Zelda was gone now. He preferred the times when they were strangers she'd publicly detested him. Even then, at least he had the King's orders to tell him where to be.

In his last life, there was no telling who he'd have become without Zelda's guidance. He'd never thought about it when working for King Rohan. Maybe he should have. If he'd wondered this all along, maybe now he'd have some sort of... independent personality. He wasn't anyone on his own. 

Who was he supposed to be now? There was no answer. Knowing that there was no answer was worse than fruitlessly seeking answers.

Until the sun returned, Link sat and cycled through these thoughts. He did not feel anything, but he especially did not feel alive.

Today had to be a better day. Every day proceeding that night outside Zora's Domain would have to be better, or else Link would not know what to do with himself. 

That had probably been a week ago. Since then, all Link had done was amble through the trails of Hyrule, seeing no one, stopping only to find food. With only a sword and shield, there was no way for him to hunt down a meal. This morning, however, he was determined. 

He had sharpened himself a spear earlier in the morning out of a snapped-off tree branch. He was now channeling every drop of patience he had left in waiting for a fish to swim by. He wasn't sure if his reflexes were going to be anything close to what he needed to actually spear one, but it was better than nothing. He'd already determined that there were no mushrooms or wild fruit around for him to forage. 

Today had to be a better day, but so far he wasn't allowing it to. His frustration was getting the better of him. He was cold and hungry and nothing else mattered. It had been hours. It was well past noon. 

In another time, he'd have been able to shoot down a crane from two hundred feet away. He had once enjoyed bowfishing. There was no enjoyment in this.

His quest to capture lunch too-quickly became his quest to capture dinner. The sun was falling fast--had it always set so quickly? He was certain that there were, in fact, fish here in the Hylia river, and he intended to obtain one. He was also completely aware that he was wasting his time here, since none of them seemed to be...here. 

He threw down the spear into the water in frustration. He hadn’t seen another person in days. How foolish it would be to starve out here after turning down a meal before fleeing Zora’s Domain.

Then, as he begrudgingly went to pick it up before the current carried it away, he heard a laugh. He spun around to see a girl poorly hiding up a tree. The vivid redness of her hair gave her away as it stood out against the earthy landscape behind her. Link didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed her there before.

He dug the tip of the spear into the gravel. He was still standing in the river, and his pants were beyond soaked, but this was not a new development. 

He hadn’t seen another person, and now another person was here. Link tried to swallow his bad mood. All he could say was a hesitant “uh, hi.”

She jumped down from the tree but stayed close to it. “Sav’aaq, voe,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Link, of course, understood, but didn’t want to explain just how it was he knew it. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she deadpanned, speaking as if Link should have known this. “Up the hill.”

Maybe it was a horrible idea, but he didn’t let that stop him from asking. “Can you take me there?”

She looked up the hill, then back at Link. Then, she shrugged. “Sure. I just wanted to see how long you were going to keep that up.” She gestured to the sharpened stick. Link rolled his eyes and let it fall away into the current.

There was no path. She had him practically scaling a cliffside, but when he reached the top he recognized this place. He couldn’t remember the name of what village had stood here five hundred years ago. He’d been here once as a child and had not returned until after the Calamity.

Here, it did not look like a Calamity-stricken ruin. This tiny area never looked like it could house more than a few families. But now, standing over it all, he could see dozens of houses crammed wall to wall. There was no indication that this place could ever have been considered a ruin.

“My dad’s at work,” the girl explained, descending the other side of the steep hill, “but he’d want to meet you. He loves meeting strange people.”

Link didn’t take the time to unpack that comment before following her down. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the mere existence of this place. Perhaps he was too hungry to be coherent. 

The girl guided him between the houses, which were each some combination of weathered cabin and shabby hut. He didn’t have the time or the energy to marvel at how they were built to sit off the ground, or ponder just how old these buildings were. She led him to the man he could only assume was her father. 

He had long, black hair, pulled back into a plait long enough to lay over one shoulder. His face was mostly covered with a dark blue scarf, so Link wasn’t able to determine any other features. 

“Look, dad,” she said, pointing at Link. “I found this guy stabbing the river.” 

Link’s expression did not flicker to resemble annoyance. It did not change at all. He didn’t know what to say. He told the man his name and awaited some insignificant judgement.

Seemingly, judgement did not come. He could see a smile reach the corners of the man’s eyes. He put down the hammer he’d been holding and said, “Good to meet you, Link. I’m Noll. I suppose you must be hungry, then.” 

It would be foolish to lie. Link nodded solemnly. It was obvious that his arrival was interrupting the work this man was doing. He looked like he was adding in additional supports beneath a home. This was clearly important. “Yes, but I’m not here to impose.”

“Nonsense,” said Noll. He went up the stairs. This was his home. “Come on in. I’ve got some potatoes boiling in here, anyway.”

“Are you sure? I can’t just…”

“Sure you can.” For Noll, that was the end of the conversation. He opened the door and went inside.

The girl smiled at him and gestured for him to follow her and her father inside. Link didn’t scrutinize the beneficence of these people and followed them in. 

One of the first questions he’d been asked upon entering was “What’s the deal with that sword?”

Link didn’t need to look over his shoulder to remember the Eightfold Blade he’d stolen. “What about it?”

“It’s just not like anything we’ve seen,” said the father, too focused on sautéing vegetables to even look at him. “Not that we see a lot of weapons here. Pretty peaceful village we’ve got here.”

There really wasn’t an answer for why he had it without having to explain… everything. There wasn’t time for that, nor would these people even care. “I got it during my travels.” 

“Where are you going?” 

_ No use in lying, I guess. _ “West.”

This caught Noll’s attention. “Oh, really? How far are you going out that way? My wife is from Gerudo Town. She’s actually on her way there now! Before we met, she was a traveling merchant, and she still likes to hit the road every so often. Oh, I probably shouldn’t get into it, though--you know, with everything happening at the castle and all.”

Link attempted a comforting glance but it likely came off as a grimace. If anything, it was an invitation to further fill the silence. And the man did, continuing to cook while he rambled. “It’s just a shame, you know. Such a shame. Ever since the royal family was usurped, it feels like the whole village thinks my wife is somehow responsible. Obviously she had nothing to do with it. She’s been here, with me and Sagail.” His daughter, Sagail, grinned at the mention of her name.

The conversation continued when they were all sitting around a tiny table with an assortment of vegetables. “Sorry it’s not much,” Link was told. “If I knew we were having company I’d have gone out and gotten a pig, or--”

“Don’t apologize,” Link said abruptly. “This is perfect. Better than perfect. But I can’t just accept this.” No matter how perfect it looked or smelled, it wouldn’t be right.

“That’s fair. But, I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you stay here for the night if you help me clean out the cuckoo pens tomorrow morning.”

It still didn’t feel like an even trade, but Link agreed nonetheless.

“Besides, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if my wife found out that I turned away a hungry traveler. Why, she’s a hungry traveler as well! I wish I could be out there with her. But, rules are rules, and I’d be booted at the Gerudo gates.”

Link hid his meager chuckle. Some things didn’t change, even when it felt like nothing could stay the same.


	14. Chapter 14

He wasn't supposed to feel shame, but there was no avoiding the fact that he had been bested. He could construct a list of excuses but none of them would redeem him. Battle was all he was supposed to know and after everything he was still  _ not good enough. _

This was his primary mission; his whole reason to exist, and on his first chance to prove himself, he'd blown it. It was not his only chance, but it had been a good one and he’d gotten ambitious and ruined it. The only way he would be able to earn a second chance if he just kept searching.

But the Shadow did not want to search any more tonight. Though not tired, he was discouraged, and he wanted to just sit here, by this fire that offered him no physical comfort. He was letting the flames go out, now bored of its previous awe. He didn't need it, anyway. It could burn twenty times hotter than the sun but he wouldn't feel it. It would be the same as the sensation of a blade piercing him clean through. He could not flinch. 

The shadow didn't know how long it had taken to put himself back together. The magic that bound him together was delicate, but it was him nonetheless. It was as familiar as looking into a mirror as he pieced himself back together.

Regardless, it had taken him too long to undergo self-repair. Even spending just an hour incapacitated was too much. He'd awoken in those woods, flanked by three corpses, and none of them were the child. None of them had his sword.

That stupid kid had escaped. There was no telling where he had ended up now. The Shadow figured he was going east. That's where all the Sheikah liked to stay. He knew what direction to go, but still not where to go. 

Father was patient but persistent. The Shadow knew he could not go home without that sword. The punishment would be unlike anything. The Shadow couldn’t be hurt, but he did not want to end up like all those before him. To become scraps and loose ends for a better version of himself…

It made him afraid, but he didn’t know the real word for it.

He would not fail because he had no other choice.

He had the whole world to search. He didn't even take the time to smother the remaining flames he'd painstakingly built. Whatever happened here would happen without him, for he would not return.

No map was necessary for him to know where he was. He was well concealed within the Tabahl Woods. It was quiet. He'd sent away all the monsters he could feel. If he heard anyone, it would be an enemy.

He'd been here before. Not to rest, though. He’d been passing through some time ago to get to Zora’s Domain. The trail was not far off. Maybe he came back this way because it was comfortable. He'd experienced victory here, once. He didn't know how long ago; the woods still felt the same, even if it looked different.

As proud as he could have been of his past, it still hadn't been a true mission. That had been practice. An order. Unfulfilling. 

An assassination was not on par with claiming the Master Sword, even if it had played out upon royalty.

Walking felt like floating. Searching felt like something he wasn't allowed to describe. He'd lived in that big castle for a long time. He’d lived longer than the other monsters there. Anything outside those walls was foreign and uncomfortable. Last time he'd been here, the leaves were vibrant green compared to their present muddy brown, and the wind hadn't been so violent. He didn't know how to describe autumn. He'd never before experienced one. Was he allowed to think of the world as beautiful?

He was not able to take the time to indulge thoughts such as these; he was unexpectedly made aware that he was not alone in these woods. He heard someone yelling.

Curious, the Shadow followed the source, even after the scream had stopped. He was certain that the night around him left him undetected. As nothing more than just another piece of these woods, the Shadow investigated.

He found a strange blonde man sitting slumped against a tree. He didn’t appear injured. His clothes were not torn; he was not afflicted by stains of blood. The moon was still low, but the Shadow could see him with ease, even from this distance.

He could see circles resembling bruises contouring his eyes, that he was breathing heavily, as if labored, despite the tranquility around him. The Shadow could see him but could not see why he had yelled in such a pained manner. It piqued an interest he didn’t know he had. An interest that he didn’t know he  _ could  _ have. 

This person was clearly unrelated to his task, but the Shadow couldn’t stop himself from taking the time to investigate. Rarely did he see anyone besides himself traveling alone.  _ It’s dangerous out there,  _ as people would say. In any case, this man was a distraction from the Shadow’s own failures, and he welcomed distraction. 

The stranger stared at the sky for a long time. The Shadow occasionally found himself glancing upward, too--was there something there? He saw nothing but endless stars. 

If not for his ability to hear his heartbeat from here, the Shadow could have assumed he was dead. He didn’t sleep; the stranger only stared at the sky, unblinking. 

But finally, when the moon was starting to dip beyond the horizon, the stranger sighed heavily, ending the charade. He wiped the backs of his hands across his cheeks and got to his feet. Here, the Shadow now noticed how similar they looked. In their similarly rounded faces, the Shadow could have been looking into a watery mirror. If the stranger stood with better posture, they’d have been the same height. 

There wasn’t much the Shadow could do with this strange information. He still had a job to do himself, but he found himself instead following this stranger down the cliffside. 

He trailed him down the path from which he’d come. Then, when the stranger departed from the path and began venturing south, cutting through what used to be the Lanayru Wetlands, the Shadow went silently behind.

Somewhere beyond this, the Shadow realized that he recognized the weapons this person was carrying. The sword was Sheikah-made. Specifically, it was the same sword that he’d seen on one of those men who had been guarding…  _ That kid. _

Now, the Shadow was following with more purpose. He trailed just a little closer.

He did this for hours. The sun had risen well above the horizon; from this he could tell that they were most certainly headed westward. The Shadow was almost sure this was not the right direction for which to find answers--the Sheikah lived in the east, certainly they’d stay there--but he followed nonetheless, if not for the curiosity alone.

Hours became days, and the Shadow only watched, for nothing of interest happened. He had no other leads, so all he could do was follow and hope this wasn’t all just a strange coincidence. 

The Shadow had heard him humming broken tunes when he fell asleep each night, and the Shadow could tell when it was safe to approach when the humming ceased. He never came close, like he was examining a carcass and coming too close was somehow dangerous. All he could notice was how they looked--coloring aside, for the Shadow’s skin and hair were greyed out like a horrible, aging corpse’s--the same. 

The man never slept soundly, or for more than a few hours at a time. It was obvious something was bothering him, with the way he’d thrash awake, practically yelling nonsense into the sky. And then he’d stare at the sky for a long time. Again, the Shadow flickered his eyes upward to see it, too. There was nothing there.

When the time would come, the Shadow retreated back to the safety of the trees or any other cranny he could fold himself into. The castle loomed on the horizon.  _ Home. _ For a split second, he wondered if it would be worth detouring home to tell father what he was seeing. 

Maybe he could trick this man into going to the castle on his own. A plan began to frame itself just behind the Shadow’s eyes, but was quickly blown away like smoke in a tornado. This had nothing to do with the Master Sword.

And so, on he followed, until that fifth day when the man spoke. 

Of course, the Shadow noticed the Gerudo-looking girl right away. He watched, eyes narrowed, as she climbed a tree not far from his to watch. The man, their shared target, was waiting for fish. The Shadow knew what he was doing, and he knew why, but he still felt like there was something veiling him from understanding this task fully.

When the girl, some time later, jumped from her perch within the tree, the Shadow remembered that he would never feel the same hunger as this stranger, vying for fish from a now-barren river. Something he would never experience, and yet… It had to be his imagination when his stomach growled in quiet empathy.

The stranger said “hi” in a pathetic voice. He was too quiet, but the Shadow heard regardless.

The two conversed, unaware they were not alone. Somehow, the girl had won. 

He didn’t even think to feel anger when the girl, who’d been following him less than an hour, had managed to befriend him already. They disappeared over the hill protecting New Deya Village.

This didn’t feel like a setback, either, when he did not follow. There were too many people beyond the hill. There was no reality where he could go undetected forever. While the Shadow didn’t know anything new about his venture to find the Master Sword, and he was likely far off from where he needed to be, he felt like he’d learned something more important.

But, like all other things, he couldn’t find the words to explain or even ponder it, despite his best efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's the heavy work load. Sometimes it's the deteriorating health. But other times, it's the accidentally spilling an entire iced coffee onto the entire computer. This one was written mostly on my phone for that reason. I hope it doesn't show. But seriously. Thank you all for sticking with this story. It's happening soon!!! The characters are MEETINGGGGGG and I will repair my laptop somehow. Everything just happens so much ilu guys


	15. Chapter 15

No matter how much he willed himself to just fall asleep, he could not. This would be the first night in over a week where he could say he was genuinely safe. He had walls around him at the very least, and something soft to lay on--Noll’s couch that Link had insisted would be fine. Noll had offered him a bed, but Link was not here to intrude, nor did he want to sleep. 

Instead, he sat on the floor, just beside his shoes, in case something were to happen. But he knew nothing would happen, at least not physically--safety meant nothing if he was going to be bothered by nightmares for the entirety of the night. He could not rest, and not sparing the dramatics from himself, he felt like he couldn't ever again until  _ something  _ changed. 

The nightmares did not care either way. The recurring dreams somehow made reality worse.

The first one was a very realistic recollection of that axe coming down on him. Sometimes the details would change--he could find himself strapped down in his bed at home, all the way back in Hateno Village. Sometimes, he would be among the ruins of what used to be the castle. Other times he’d be back in that cold desert hideout. But that axe came upon him all the same.

The split second of agony was looming. Sometimes that inevitability would be drawn out, where he’d just lay there, but the pain would always come. It would be far beyond intense. It was a feeling no one alive was meant to know, let alone describe. He fought the urge to curl up just from thinking about it. Every time he would find himself wondering if it always hurt so badly.

But even worse than that part of the recurring horror was the notion of what had happened before all of that, prior to his departure. Never did it feel like a nightmare at first, and despite having gone through it multiple times the shock never hit him until the last minute. How could he forget he was in a dream, when he could remember nothing else?

They always started differently. Once, he had been out in that tiny little garden, where vegetables had just started poking out of the ground. He was sitting on one of the walls that he had built. The bricks were wet with rain and he could feel the uneven bricks soaking his clothes. It was obvious he was not meant to be a carpenter. Zelda was pulling weeds out from among the plants. No one had asked her to, and surely this was not her responsibility, but she did anyway and Link was there to keep her company. 

She was always talking, but while he clearly heard her level voice, she wasn't speaking in words he knew how to comprehend. He clambered down off the wall in case he was just too far away to understand. But he wasn't.

Whether the dreams started here, or in the basement, clearing old dust from the walls, they all ended the same way. He'd approach her, struggling to understand why he couldn't make out a single word, and he'd get to her, and his hand would always go right through. As soon as that happened, he'd leave. 

Without thinking, he would silently walk away, like none of it mattered. It only had to matter if he could prove it was real. And he couldn't. He would leave the castle and that would be the last Zelda would ever hear from him, because it was clear that all paths led directly to that axe. It did not matter what route he took. As he walked away, he knew where he would end up.

Sometimes, he would awaken from these dreams--nightmares--shouting. Screaming, like the louder he was the less it would hurt. This, obviously, was not the case, but he could not control it. 

No matter how badly Link wanted to sleep here, he couldn't. If he fell asleep, it was almost certain the nightmare would follow, and it would disturb the sleep of his kind hosts. This was no problem. He could stay awake for the whole night, leave after repaying his debt, and collapse into sleep somewhere far beyond the ears of this little village. He’d done worse for himself.

Regardless of how little he slept, that was his plan for tomorrow. Fulfill his promise and leave. From there, nothing was certain, but no matter where he went he only had one destination. His dreams had to be leading him back to the desert.

He could not understand why he had ever believed it was his duty to fix this world twice. It was time to do something for himself, and he was going to go out into that desert, scale those ruinous cliffs, and make sure that those who had killed him were done for, even if that meant he had to do it himself.

Something was off about this place. The feeling had followed him in--like he was being watched or followed. He’d been laying here for hours; certainly everyone else here was asleep. And yet, Link couldn’t shake the feeling that he was sharing this space. 

At the same time he was working himself up to rise and investigate the feeling, he heard footsteps. There was no way he was imagining them. They were approaching from outside. Before the footsteps reached the front door, Link had already scooped the Eightfold Blade up off the floor and pulled it under his blanket with him.

They pounded on the door with a sense of urgency Link couldn’t have imagined. Noll sprang out of bed instantly--Link heard the movement in the next room. Link did not move from off the floor where he was. Whatever this was, it was not his business. They knocked on the door. They couldn’t be a threat.

Breathless, the new visitor said in a low voice, “Noll, we just got a letter from Gerudo Town.” Noll stepped outside and Link did not hear the rest of the conversation. 

This left Link wondering what was going on, but only mildly: once his debt was repaid to this man he’d be gone. But everything about it--a random courier in the night--piqued his interest. 

He’d felt strange all day, like something horrible had been on his tail, and now, maybe it was all being tied together. It was selfish, but this kind of thing only could follow him. The only element missing from the dramatics of this scene was a heavy storm, but he’d take what he was given. 

When Noll came back inside, he was damp, not with evanescent rain, but with panicked sweat. In one hand he held the aforementioned letter. His hair, unbraided, was almost alive in a worried knot. 

Link raised an eyebrow, teetering on asking what was happening. This was not his business, of course, but Noll liked to be brimming with information that needed to be released lest he explode.

“It’s--I--We need to go,” Noll stammered, and Link knew he wasn’t included in that statement of “we.” 

“What’s happened?” Link asked, trying to balance the man’s panic with his own calm.

And it worked, to an extent, for Noll spent the next ten minutes or so attempting to explain the situation while he filed a worn-out bag with both his clothes and his daughter’s, woke her up, and made a quick cup of coffee, no doubt to be taken on the journey with them. Link learned that a letter had arrived from the desert regarding the health of his wife. He did not know what exactly was happening, but Noll expressed concern and haste all the while.

He said, “she can’t travel,” which meant they would have to go to her.

Something about leaving this debt to Noll, no matter how small it suddenly was in the scheme of things, left Link uneasy. He said, “I’ll go with you.” When both the father and the daughter looked at him with tired confusion, Link retrieved his sword from the floor, where it had been all night, just mocking him.

There was nothing to explain. He was answered in the form of a weary nod from the father, who was in the process of re-plaiting his hair and then Sagail’s. 

He was now repaying his debt in a way that made him feel more useful. Not that there was anything wrong with repairing the livestock pens, but something about carrying a sword granted him a veil of safety he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Now that the three of them were leaving into the night, Link was glad that it was not, in fact, raining. The late-night exit still added a level of dramatics not unfamiliar to him, but he couldn’t even smile about the nostalgia right now. The family’s urgent demeanor removed the possibility of anything but concentration. It was selfish to relish the adrenaline.

At least now, silently walking in the moonlight, Link no longer had that feeling of being followed. Now, he was the one doing the following, and he was headed to his chosen destiny out in the Gerudo Desert.

Or, so he thought--as the Central Tower expanded across the horizon, backlit by an almost-full moon, he was pulled from the journey.

It was the sound of horses that detached him. He immediately recognized it. He’d gone so long without hearing them that he had noticed before Noll and Sagail. He didn’t want to say anything at first. He wanted the curiosity to fester to where one of them would mention the oddity of it, and when they were too loud to ignore, Noll said, “Well I’ll be. Is that…?” 

And when he did not follow up on that sentence, Link prompted him. “What?” He couldn’t articulate it any better than that frank command. 

“Why, that sounds like…” Noll drifted off again, but at least he was stopped now, squinting alongside Link to find the source of the noise. 

As if it could be anything else, it was a small group of horses, and though Link couldn’t determine just who was upon them, they surely had riders.

There was no telling who it was riding through Hyrule field with such haste in the dead of night, not from this distance. Link and Noll exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent dialogue, and diverted their path to  _ maybe _ make an attempt to catch a glimpse of who this was.

Sagail, sleeping on her father’s shoulders, paid no mind to the detour. Link was certain that he was moving quietly enough so not to wake her, but her dad seemed to be nearly struggling already with the extra weight. Link kept glancing over, sure that at any moment Noll would collapse, but as they approached the source of the noise it did not happen.

“Those are…” Noll’s habit of trailing off seemed to be getting worse as the night went on, but Link didn’t prompt him because he saw it too.

He saw the deep navy of the royal emblem, seemingly the only other thing aside from him that had withstood the test of time. Now it was he who felt to be on the verge of collapse. He could have been staring off into the past. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made it feel so borderline epiphanic, but he surely couldn’t articulate it into words.

“I can’t believe any of the royal family survived the siege,” Noll whispered. They were too far away to have been heard by those on horseback, but Link was sure that if he tried to speak, it wouldn’t surpass a whisper, either. Then, Noll added, “It was a massacre.”

Link barely heard it. He was far more transfixed than Noll was.

After the horses and their riders were dipping beyond sight, behind a hill, Noll said, “I’m glad to see that the princess is alive and well. We were all worried, back in the village.” He turned to leave, and after taking another moment, Link followed, too.

Wholly aware of how negligent he sounded, Link asked, “The princess?” He didn’t know where the question began or ended.

Noll didn’t seem surprised by Link’s patchy memory, but Link ignored the twinge of condescension when he said, “Yeah, Princess Zelda? We had heard that the Hylian King had… perished under the power of the Gerudo King. No one knew that... Anyway, I’m glad. We probably shouldn’t tell anyone. Hey, what’s wrong? You’re all pale. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Link hadn’t seen a ghost. He’d attempted to defy his duties, to defy his loyalty to the throne, and this was a sign much worse than a ghost. 

So, he took a deep breath, and in its expanse he summarized his situation. He said, “this is going to sound insane…” and started four hundred years ago. 

They were walking west still, by the time his story caught up to the present day, and their pace had already managed to slow down considerably. “Well, son,” came the reply, followed by Noll slowing his pace once more. “I’m no expert, but to me, it sounds like you’re headed the wrong way.” Somewhere during Link’s story, Noll’s face had become a horrible mix between concerned and somber. He said, “Nothing you could do for me and my family would be more important than what you  _ should _ do for the Kingdom.” Surely, he was trying to sound fatherly, but Link wouldn’t recognize that kind of tone. 

He took a deep breath. Someone else was telling him the truth. He hadn’t been able to lie to himself, even for a week. He and Noll exchanged a fretful but understanding look, and it was at this point they silently parted ways.

As he looked back at the pair he was leaving behind, he felt bad, like he was abandoning them, though they both knew this wasn’t the case. Link turned away one last time, and wouldn’t ever learn the fate of Noll’s wife, a woman whose name he’d never even asked for. Maybe he had been a poor guest, after all. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t his story to know in the scheme of it all, so maybe hearing of that family’s quiet and tear-filled reunion with a fully recovered mother and a fully relieved father wasn’t his to know. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. That couldn’t be it, and it took a deal of convincing for even himself. It wasn’t that. He did care. He cared about everyone he’d met. The fate of this kingdom was once again in his hands, and passing it off would never be the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you are all taking care of yourselves in the absurdity that is November 2020. What a week this has been. I'm tired. Here's chapter 15. I don't know how many are left anymore. I threw my outline away because I'm living on the edge


	16. Chapter 16

"I don't know if you heard," Zelda rambled, distracting the Child completely from his training, "but  _ I _ heard that they're all talking about moving camp locations. Apparently, there's a whole herd of lynels nearby, and it's just too dangerous to be here." 

She took a moment for the words to sink in, like what she had said was deeply profound. Though scary to hear, it wasn't worthy of a pause this long. He didn’t mind. All the way over here, no one was harassing him to keep practicing his stances, or whatever, so he listened on like this was the most captivating thing at the whole camp. 

He didn’t know how he did it, but Zelda didn't realize that his attention was ingenuine, so on she continued. "Yeah. I don't see what the big deal is. I saw a lynel on my way here, with my mom and the guards. It was sleeping, but still, it didn't look so mean."

She was sewing something, and took a moment to admire her work. He said nothing, which, by now, it was a habit she'd given up on pestering him over. She spun around the taut fabric she'd been poking at, showing him what it was she’d been working on. "Look! It's you!" she cried enthusiastically.

The Child did not see the resemblance. He had never been one to appreciate art in any form in the first place, but this was beyond comprehension. First of all, her choice of colored threads matched exactly none of him. She depicted him in a deep red shirt and pure white limbs, standing out horribly against the similarly colored canvas they were attached to. He didn't think his hair was such a dark brown, but that was the color she'd chosen.

She may not have noticed that he was only half paying attention to her rambling, but she did notice his confused look, so she spun the piece back to face her. "Yeah, you're right. I don’t have the right colors for this. Besides, my mom didn't teach me very much about embroidery before we had to get out of the castle. There was a lot I didn't learn, you know. I could have learned... archery. Yeah. I could have been the one to wipe out that lynel, or any of the ones that are here!" She imitated drawing a bow and made a pinging noise when she pretended to let go of the arrow. 

The Child, who had never thought of being faced with a lynel, nodded with feigned enthusiasm. He did not want her to fight a lynel, that was a horrible idea. This time, she saw right through his encouragement, and her shoulders fell. 

Maybe she was genuinely pouting when she said, "Whatever. You know, you should probably be working on sword stuff before someone comes and yells at you." 

The Child looked around them. They were still within sight of the camp, and he could still clearly hear conversations happening from many directions, but no one seemed to be watching them specifically. 

Zelda and the queen had been here for nine, maybe ten days, and on occasion, there were times where everyone would forget to yell at him about his training. He took comfort in those moments, even willing to put up with the nonstop chattering of the princess. She was entertaining, if not funny, though she was probably never trying to be.

But, she was right: he should be working on "sword stuff." It seemed they were getting closer to whatever big fight lay in his future. His  _ destiny _ , they’d keep saying. If he could put that off, he would.

He was still dreading this battle, of course, but no longer was it on his mind at all times. Now that he had accompaniment from someone his own age, things seemed to be looking up all on their own. He missed his sister, but the princess and her non stop rambling could almost be a substitute, almost completely countering the homesickness.

Besides, he had more to work for now. The Child was confident that he would be able to ensure that Zelda would not suffer the same fate as his friend Shidante. While it was true that the adults yelled at him less, and he slacked off more frequently, he now had a resolve that no one else could have forced into him.

Before he could get back to his training, the two were called for lunch. Together, they raced back to the main camp. The Child let her slam her palm down on the table first, declaring victory; she hated to lose and he hated to argue.

Zelda regularly made it obvious that she'd rather have her meals in the presence of her mother, but the Sheikah kept telling her that she was busy at meetings, or doing important things with the council, or some other reason she couldn’t be here. It was likely true, since neither of the kids saw her very often anymore. 

Today, they could hear her voice through one of the tents, audible even from the table where they ate. Zelda rounded back to eavesdrop, and the Child  _ clearly _ had no choice but to stay with her. Maybe he was more interested than he thought he was, because he wasn’t here just because Zelda was.

They heard her say, "And are you sure it was him?"

Someone else said, "Yes. We've received word from the Zora Queen. It was really him."

"Hm." 

A long period of silence emitted from the inside, so the Child nudged Zelda's arm that it was nearing time to go. They were still being summoned to a meal, after all. Someone would find them here. Zelda was reluctant, but she followed him back.

"Who do you suppose they were talking about?" asked Zelda. The Child shrugged, taking plates of food for both of them. Though he always made their plates identical, rarely did he ever make a dent into his, and it left Zelda with a judgement-free second helping. As was tradition, now.

Sitting down and mostly ignoring her food, she said, "Never mind. I'll figure it out." She stared over his shoulder at the tent. 

This tent was the biggest of all of them, and it had decidedly become the headquarters of camp and constantly had people going in and out. When she'd first arrived, Zelda spent quite a bit of time in there with her mother, but now she'd been kicked out to occupy the Child's time. He felt like he had become her bodyguard by now. No one even looked at them as they wandered off into the nearby trees. There was no way his sister would ever believe it when he told her, which made him look forward even more to finally getting home.

While he was lost in thought, Zelda had already hatched and subsequently executed a plan to harass her busy mother with questions. She told one of the Sheikah women sitting nearby that she wasn’t feeling well. 

"Fetch my mother," she said, putting a hand on her forehead. Without thinking, the Child scooted down a chair so that he was sitting beside her, in the unlikely event that she did fall so he could catch her. Maybe it was more likely than he thought, though--he didn't know the limits of her theatrics.

The Sheikah woman probably didn't believe it, because she rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. But she still obliged, standing up and going to find the queen in the headquarters tent. The two emerged together, and Zelda's plan seemed to have stopped here. 

"Hello, mother," she said, drawing out her words.

"What's wrong?" the queen asked, her pale face drawn up in worry. The Sheikah woman who had brought her here rolled her eyes once more. The queen was more gullible than he thought, apparently.

But still, the act seemed to work, because Zelda whined into her mother's arms, and before he knew it the Child was watching Zelda be carried to the medical building. It was a building now--they had just finished it. They finished a few buildings, now, and they were planning on moving the camp? The Child found it strange.

He finished his lunch by himself and went back to the area where she'd left the embroidery she called "artwork." He’d left his sword out here, and besides, he did have to be seen using it every now and then.

Out here, the Sheikah had built life-size enemies that resembled scarecrows for the soldiers to practice sword maneuvers with when he wasn't able to find a real person to fight with. There were a few in this little clearing, so he kept himself busy while he waited for her. Surely, she'd be back soon.

Before she did, it began to rain, so the Child left his straw-filled opponent there and scampered back to his tent. Zelda was inside, sitting on his bedroll. Everything else looked untouched. She’d just been in here waiting for him.

"There you are!" she said in a rather loud whisper. "I thought you were going to come back here after you ate."

The Child took the sword off his back and set it down, as if that were some indicator to where he had been. 

She didn't seem to care. "I just heard the _ craziest _ thing," she said. "You're not going to believe it. Apparently we got this letter from Zora's domain. You know where that is, right? You don’t? You’ve never been? You need to go! I went there once, as a kid. Anyway, my mom told me that they had a really unexpected visitor down there. And they wrote to us about it, but I'm not really sure why. But you're never going to guess who it was. Guess!"

He blinked at her. He wasn’t going to guess.

"Link. It's the  _ Hylian Champion _ ."

Like, from his old textbook? The Child tilted his head.

"It's the last hero of Hyrule," she said, her whisper turned into nearly a scream.

Well, that made exactly no sense. The Child scrunched up his nose, not in confusion, but in scrutiny. He had been missing for centuries. He couldn’t be around here.

"It's true," she said defiantly, folding her arms over her chest and returning to a whisper. "He's alive, and he's totally going to come and save us."

He took the time to ponder that, furrowing his eyebrows and staring intently at the floor. If the old hero--no, the real hero--was out there somewhere, why hadn't he come yet? Then, if he were still out there somewhere, the Child wondered what he was doing in the first place. He curbed whatever hope he wanted to have. He couldn’t just pass all of this off to someone else… right?

After a pause much too long, he looked back up at Zelda, who was practically shaking with glee. The Child did not share this excitement, only confusion. It just didn’t make sense.

Zelda went on. "Yeah, so maybe we can find him and he can be your teacher! Wouldn't that be great? I wonder what kind of teacher he would be. He's really old, you know, so he might not be able to fight."

The Champion had once slept for a hundred years and still managed to eradicate the Calamity. There was no denying that; it had been in his school book. That was, if he remembered correctly, at least three or four hundred years ago, but surely the same rules would apply were the Champion to wake up now.

“This is just so weird.” Zelda corrected her posture, and in a snobbish voice, she said, "After the second disappearance of the Hylian Champion, Sheikah guards had been periodically sent to look for him for decades later, but he was gone without a trace." Maybe she'd read that in a book somewhere, for the way she sounded like she was making fun of it. Then, she dropped the voice. "That’s what my tutors always told me, but from what I heard just now, he got killed. Why would anyone want to hide that? That’s a big deal. People were out there looking for him!”

"Zelda, there you are!" They heard the voice cry out, just before the queen flipped open the tent flap. "You can't just run off like that whenever you please."

"Well, I've got to go!" Zelda said as she was being half-dragged out of the tent. "I'll see you at dinner! Hopefully it'll have stopped raining by then."

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time the dinner bell rang. Luckily, many of the tables were shaded, so none of the food got wet. For the partially completed building here, the kitchen took priority over the dining area, so only that half had a roof so far. Some of the adults tried standing beneath where the roof was finished, but the woman who'd been cooking shooed them away before they could get a bite in. It left them to eat their curry at the mostly-covered tables with everyone else.

The Child had been waiting for Zelda before going to get his food, but he didn't see her here. Surely, he was allowed to eat without her, but it had seemingly become a habit over this last week and a half. 

Finally, he caught sight of her ponytailed blonde hair in the nearby woods, and jumped out of his seat to follow her, since she was going in the completely wrong direction. She was headed towards that clearing where they'd been hanging out earlier.

When she noticed that she was being followed, she said, "I forgot my embroidery! The rain probably ruined it." She wasn't wrong. When she picked it up, the threads had bled and dyed the fabric all kinds of colors. Mostly, the canvas became red with the inaccurate color she'd chosen for his shirt. It looked gruesome and foreboding.

"Well, crud. You didn't like it, anyway, so I guess it's not that bad."

Even though it was true, the Child still felt guilty about it. Was he supposed to just like whatever art she decided to make, though? He raised his arm, intending to pat her arm and comfort her for this tragic loss--

But at the same time, a Lizalfos erupted from a cliff far above them, chittering as it landed just before them, seemingly undamaged by its fall. The Child reached behind him for the Master Sword, but suddenly he just felt too light, and he realized too late that the sword was not here.  _ It wasn't here _ \--he left it in the tent. He'd gotten so distracted by everything today that he'd left that piece of him behind.

He was defenseless, but he stepped between the monster and Zelda, as if his tiny body could offer any additional protection besides just a kid-sized shield.

The Lizalfos, blue and horrendous, licked its eyeball, which was gross, and leaned back. He'd fought enough of these to know that it was just winding up for an attack. He stepped back slightly, urging Zelda to get as much distance between herself and the monster as possible.

The attack never came from the Lizalfos. The Child didn't comprehend it at first, but after blinking out of a sudden haze, he realized that something had come and smacked the monster on the head. It was a sword, not unlike the one he'd been using before taking up the Master Sword. 

Without thinking or otherwise hesitating, the Child scrambled to grab that sword and sunk it into the ribcage of the attacker. The Lizalfos didn't move after that.

And then, at the same time, both kids turned their heads to the source of where this sword had come from, and--

It was  **_him_ ** , the supposedly dead-but-not-actually-dead Hylian Champion, who looked to be smiling down at them from the cliff. It had to be him. The Child looked up, and somehow he just knew. 

He didn’t consider how far up the cliff was as he stared. It didn’t matter until he heard the squeal of another Lizalfos at the top. This was immediately followed by a yell as the Champion was shoved off the edge by that monster. The Child was frozen in place as he watched him fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah. It's all coming together now


	17. Chapter 17

They told him he had hit his head. It didn't sound totally off the mark, seeing as his head did, in fact, hurt. They also told him that it wasn’t anything serious, and that he was lucky it wasn’t worse than this. But there was more pain than in just his head. 

His shoulders hurt, too, like his muscles had tried to remove themselves from his body but couldn’t, leaving only the intense feeling of detachment. Something in his chest hurt, too, and he couldn't tell if this was pain he'd been carrying this whole time, or if it was just something new he'd woken up with. 

The worst of the pain was condensed into one hand. His right hand, stuck at his side, was wrapped in thick bandages. He’d taken one look at it, while it had been wrapped, and knew just from a glance that it was broken. He’d fallen on it for sure, and thinking about it for more than a few seconds at a time filled him with dread. This could leave him useless--he only thought of how this meant he wouldn’t even be able to use the sword he’d come so far to retrieve

To top it all off, he was freezing. Everything was much colder than he remembered. It wasn't until he was awake completely, and a white-haired woman was asking him questions in a rapid pace, did he get a blanket. It did little, seeing that he was still shivering beneath it. His hands felt numb, and Link wasn’t sure if it was from the injuries or the weather.

He did not know where he was. Well, that was a lie: he knew he had finally found the Sheikah that he'd been searching for, on and off, for weeks. The flat area beneath the Akkala Citadel was an obvious place to hide once he'd employed the process of elimination. As a kid, Link knew this place to be damn near impenetrable. As he’d joined the royal guard, this place had been boasted as the one place in the entire Kingdom that was guaranteed to be safe. He'd come back some hundred years later to it overrun by malice and monsters.

The woman who had come in to check on his injuries caused him to double-take. He almost could have convinced himself that he was in the correct time period. She looked exactly like she would have back then, down to her darkened robes and vibrant face paint.

At first, it alarmed Link that he couldn't talk. He'd tried to speak to her, and the attempt had erupted into a coughing fit that he couldn't suppress. Maybe he should have been embarrassed that he coughed until he puked, but somehow the embarrassment did not come. There was only comfort that he was, at long last, where he was supposed to be.

No one came in to try to converse with him for a long time. A few different people would come in to check his temperature, frown at him, and leave, but Link found himself too weak to try to talk to anyone after that. He didn't need anyone to frown at him for him to know that he was sick. He didn't know where it had come from. He had been feeling fine all the way up here. Sure, he'd been travelling at a pace much faster than before, but surely he had moved with this much haste before. It must have been another lifetime. 

He closed his eyes and waited for the next person to come check on him. He couldn’t sleep, not with how cold he was, so he continued to mentally relive the moments earlier in case they had questions.

Surely, they would. They would inquire as to why he had been upon that cliff, where he had to get by their campgrounds just to circle back and watch them. At the time, the answer had been simple for Link. He wanted to be sure that his sword was here, and he wanted to be sure that he could trust this group. Everyone had been overwhelmingly polite to him recently, and he didn't want to push his luck.

And then, while he was up on that cliff, he’d tried to find something to eat, but it had just rained and cooking was out of the question. There was little to forage here, but Link took the time to appreciate that even though he knew exactly where he was, everything had changed. The malice that had destroyed this land had receded. He was more than happy to replace old memories of this place with something much more at peace. No longer did the citadel represent past death and failure. He added “curiosity” to the list of reasons he came up here.

Three lizalfos had snuck up on him not long after he’d come back to watching the group below. Their camouflage had only gotten better over time, because even though their scales were a bright ocean blue, he didn't see them until it was too late. Despite being just short of famished, he'd slain two of them with relative ease. The last lizalfos lunged at him as its comrades fell. Link tripped but still managed to get a good hit in with the blunt edge of his weapon, but the lizalfos was still alive and angry as it tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

It wasn't a horribly long fall. It was certainly survivable. Link was close to the edge himself, and glanced down only to see that there were people down there. Kids, in fact. He was not planning on taking that same jump down, so the quickest way to help meant throwing his blade and hoping it would hit.

It did not. The hilt smacked the monster and stunned it, but it was more or less unharmed.

One of the kids, a scrawny blond boy, immediately jumped for the fallen weapon and got the lizalfos right in the chest. Behind him, the rain had approached once more. He heard it before he felt it, and when he felt the rain hit heavy on his shoulders he lost his grip on the dirt beneath him. He obviously fell, but he remembered nothing of it. 

The ground gave out, and then he was here in this tent, and it was still raining, because he could hear the drops on the tent above him. Still, his face felt wet, and he wondered if he was bleeding somewhere. He wanted to reach up and touch his face, but his arms felt bound to his sides and he could not move.

He was entirely useless, and even with this blanket he was so cold. Had it always been this cold? Link took a deep breath, fighting off panic. He was fine, but he didn’t feel fine.

He fell asleep, and maybe that was a comfort. He did not dream, but he was not thankful for whatever consistent rest he could get. It was as if, in the moment, he'd forgotten he even held the capacity for nightmares. 

He only awoke when someone else came in to check on him. Occasionally, they'd say something to him, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been told when he closed his eyes. It became a routine of lying here in wait for the next person to come wake him up. He had no capacity for the passage of time. 

The pattern continued for some time, until after waking up with a horrible cough. He sat up for the first time in too long. Instantly, his vision went fuzzy and his shoulders burned, and the coughing made his ribs ache before long. Once he was calm, he stayed sitting up, just in case it would come back if he moved.

While he was sitting there, the tent flap opened and, for the first time, it was not a Sheikah who came in. It was a woman, dressed in long blue robes, with curly hair pinned back behind her ears. 

Had Link not felt so delirious, he may have been able to determine who this was without any introduction. But, he could not, so he wore a blank stare, knowing exactly who she looked like but unable to articulate it.

The woman sat at the foot of his bedroll and said, "I've heard so much about you. I don't know what you've heard of me, but I am..." she said her name, but it did not register with Link. It didn’t matter, anyway. What did register was the comforting look in her eyes. He recognized that, if nothing else. He had no idea how many generations could possibly have passed since her, but it was the same feeling. The Zelda he knew was long gone. He reminded himself of that.

She sat there with him for a long time without talking. It was like they were both trying to read the other, but neither of them were getting any leeway. Link sighed, and the blanket around his shoulders slid off on one side. The Queen put it back where it should have been, and as if that was enough to break the tension, she said, "That was quite a fall, I heard."

Link hummed a note of agreement, scared to say anything in case it would erupt into another coughing fit.

Finally something cracked and Link felt annoyance radiate. "Don't tell me you're like him and you don't talk, either."

Link shook his head adamantly, but raised an eyebrow to replace his question. The Queen did not seem to understand.

"I read all the notes from the time of the Calamity. It didn’t say anything about something like this happening.”

Link inhaled deeply as if that would help, then said hoarsely, "Is he here?"

A blink of surprise. "Oh, so you do talk. Excellent. Yes, the boy is here, though from what I'm told he doesn't stand a chance at this rate. We are so lucky to have you here now.”

Link said nothing. The coughing caught up to him.

When he was finished, the woman said, "Everyone here wants to trust you. Don’t make us regret this. We’re already facing so many risks."

The idea that he would have come all this way to betray these people seemed almost a laughable thought. Twice now, he’d died protecting this kingdom. That wasn’t for nothing. He looked at his bandaged arms, then leaned back onto the scratchy pillow he'd been provided. "Yes, we are," he agreed, and the Queen eventually realized that this was her invitation to leave.

He was left alone for some time after this. He didn't mind the solitude, but he did mind knowing that everything he had been searching for was here, and it was still so far out of reach. Only in the literal sense, but still enough to annoy him when he was awake, which he was a lot more as time went on. Whatever injury he'd sustained to his head, giving him frequent migraines, did eventually subside. It must not have been serious because he only could have been here for a few days, tops. He was able to sit up and eat without worry. 

The longer he sat here, the more embarrassing his injury had become in the first place. At least Zelda wasn't here to scold him.

Maybe he wished she was. It wasn't enough to just imagine whatever it was she was going to lecture him about. Her vocabulary outmatched his, so even his best guesses were never going to be correct. But she was here, wasn't she? It was a familial name. It wasn't the Zelda he knew, but there was a princess named Zelda here. And it was part of the reason why he was here. 

This was his duty and it should have made him proud to fulfil it, but it still made his heart hurt anyway. That would likely never go away. Like many things, this was something he would have to eventually come to live with.

At long last, the day came where he could stand without anyone gently coaxing him back down, encouraging him to get a little more rest. He knew he was fine. These were not the worst injuries he'd sustained.

He did not think about that axe.

He only thought about how wobbly his legs were after days of going without use. Four days, actually, but it felt like longer. It was not dissimilar to how it had felt clamoring out of the Shrine of Resurrection two too many times. The past only existed to haunt him. 

"I want to meet the kid with the sword," he said, once he was sure that being out and about by himself was permissible. Of course he knew what the kid’s name was, but this was just too strange. He couldn't say it because that would solidify something not meant to be solidified.

Thankfully, the weather was tolerable and the ground was steady beneath him today. When he did find the kid, he couldn't contain his pity. He didn't need to say a word to this kid to understand what he was feeling. They had felt the same things. They were supposed to be living the same life, but not at the same time like this.

The child with the same name as him was sitting on a soggy, decomposing tree stump, and though he was laughing at whatever the girl next to him was saying, it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked like he was maybe eleven years old. Much too young to be here. 

The Master Sword was at his side, and though Link was thrilled to see it safe and in one piece, he also resented how fitting it looked beside someone else. It was the one thing he had been gifted by the Goddess that made him feel like he was worth anything. He'd endured too much shit for someone else to just pick up where he left off, hence the pity.

The girl seemed to notice him first, because the chosen child was focused on watching her practice embroidery. She dismissed herself, and Link was left alone with his reluctant successor.

"This is so weird, right?" Link said, folding his arms. He didn’t move, not even to sit. He'd been down for so long, he was sure that if he sat down he'd have to stay there. The kid shrugged. Then, he looked at the Master Sword.

"So, I've been told you kind of keep to yourself." Link suddenly realized that despite everything he had done in life, talking to children was not one of those things he excelled at. He had said _ this is weird,  _ as if such a situation existed where this couldn’t be strange. Of course it was weird. Now he just sounded dumb.

It didn't matter, did it? Link sighed, hanging his head. "This wasn't supposed to happen, and I'm sorry that it did." that was absolutely true. Neither of them deserved these fates, but there was nothing they could do about it now.

The kid looked up at him with wide eyes. Maybe he was in shock, but maybe he was just so sallow in the face that he just looked wide-eyed. Link hoped it was the former.

Either way, Link knew he had his attention. Did he have to be strategic about what he said? He realized now that he'd never actually thought about this interaction. He was accustomed to feeling speechless. Talking had never been his job. He was realizing too quickly that it now had to be.

Talking. That was a good start. But the kid wouldn’t do that, would he?

"Do you… I don’t know, do you sign at all?" The boy shrugged again. Great. Okay. "If you want, I can show you some. I mean, what I know is probably really old by now, but… Never mind, actually. That might not be a good idea.” It was a fast-changing language. Teaching this kid whatever he knew would likely only be useful between the two of them.

But even as he said it, and even more as he was dismissing it, something changed in the kid's posture. Was this... interest? Link had no idea, but that's how he took it to be. He blinked in surprise, then rambled on. "Yeah, so… I had a little sister when I was growing up. She didn't talk--couldn’t, so we always..." He made a winding gesture with his hands to represent how they had communicated.

This was not a memory he had forgotten, but it was a memory he didn't like to recall. She had been much younger than him, and they were still learning how to communicate when he'd been whisked off to serve the royal family. He didn't see her much, but he’d continued learning her language while they were apart. Then one day he woke up, and the world had moved on. Time took his family.

There was a time where he did not remember anything about the family he'd left behind. Maybe it was better that way. On his last adventure, back when there was a Calamity to dismantle, none of his personal life seemed to matter. But one day, in Zora's Domain, an old guard he was supposed to have remembered asked him why he didn't use sign anymore. 

It wasn't a matter of forgetting the language, it was more of a lapse of knowing he'd mastered the language, let alone why. It opened a floodgate of his past, and he didn't know to this day if it had been worth it. Remembrance always led down to grief. Always.

He had to pull himself back to reality with a shake of the head. The kid was staring at him still, and Link wondered if the kid ever blinked.

"Okay, so you want to do this? I mean, or we could, you know. Work on your swordsmanship." Link’s gaze shifted to the sword between them.

The kid seemed to have forgotten the sword was even there. At the mention of it, he picked it up from the ground beside him and held it up as an offering to Link. It pained him to do so, but he shook his head.

"No, I don't need it right now." Somehow, just knowing it was here was satisfying enough. "We've got some other stuff to learn, first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took over a month to get out. It's funny to me because I had made an outline and a schedule and if I had followed either this whole thing would have been done by now.......... anyway thanks for all the kind words, I promise I will see this through!


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